I

Thou hast made me, and shall Thy work decay?
Repair me now, for now mine end doth haste;
I run to death, and Death meets me as fast,
And all my pleasures are like yesterday.
I dare not move my dim eyes any way;
Despair behind, and Death before doth cast
Such terror, and my feeble flesh doth waste
By sin in it, which it towards hell doth weigh.
Only Thou art above, and when towards Thee
By Thy leave I can look, I rise again;
But our old subtle foe so tempteth me,
That not one hour myself I can sustain.
Thy grace may wing me to prevent his art
And thou like adamant draw mine iron heart.

II

As due by many titles I resign
Myself to thee, O God. First I was made
By Thee; and for Thee, and when I was decay’d
Thy blood bought that, the which before was Thine.
I am Thy son, made with Thyself to shine,
Thy servant, whose pains Thou hast still repaid,
Thy sheep, Thine image, and⁠—till I betray’d
Myself⁠—a temple of Thy Spirit divine.
Why doth the devil then usurp on me?
Why doth he steal, nay ravish, that’s Thy right?
Except Thou rise and for Thine own work fight,
O! I shall soon despair, when I shall see
That Thou lovest mankind well, yet wilt not choose me,
And Satan hates me, yet is loth to lose me.

III

O! might those sighs and tears return again
Into my breast and eyes, which I have spent,
That I might in this holy discontent
Mourn with some fruit, as I have mourn’d in vain.
In mine idolatry what showers of rain
Mine eyes did waste? what griefs my heart did rent?
That sufferance was my sin, I now repent;
’Cause I did suffer, I must suffer pain.
Th’ hydroptic drunkard, and night-scouting thief,
The itchy lecher, and self-tickling proud
Have the remembrance of past joys, for relief
Of coming ills. To poor me is allow’d
No ease; for long, yet vehement grief hath been
Th’ effect and cause, the punishment and sin.

IV

O, my black soul, now thou art summoned
By sickness, Death’s herald and champion;
Thou’rt like a pilgrim, which abroad hath done
Treason, and durst not turn to whence he’s fled;
Or like a thief, which till death’s doom be read,
Wisheth himself deliver’d from prison,
But damn’d and haled to execution,
Wisheth that still he might be imprisoned.
Yet grace, if thou repent, thou canst not lack;
But who shall give thee that grace to begin?
O, make thyself with holy mourning black,
And red with blushing, as thou art with sin;
Or wash thee in Christ’s blood, which hath this might,
That being red, it dyes red souls to white.

V

I am a little world made cunningly
Of elements, and an angelic sprite;
But black sin hath betray’d to endless night
My world’s both parts, and, O, both parts must die.
You which beyond that heaven which was most high
Have found new spheres, and of new land can write,
Pour new seas in my eyes, that so I might
Drown my world with my weeping earnestly,
Or wash it if it must be drown’d no more.
But, O, it must be burnt; alas! the fire
Of lust and envy burnt it heretofore,
And made it fouler; let their flames retire,
And burn me, O Lord, with a fiery zeal
Of Thee and Thy house, which doth in eating heal.

VI

This is my play’s last scene; here heavens appoint
My pilgrimage’s last mile; and my race
Idly, yet quickly run, hath this last pace;
My span’s last inch, my minutes’ latest point;
And gluttonous Death will instantly unjoint
My body and soul, and I shall sleep a space;
But my ever-waking part shall see that face,
Whose fear already shakes my every joint.
Then, as my soul to heaven her first seat takes flight,
And earthborn body in the earth shall dwell,
So fall my sins, that all may have their right,
To where they’re bred and would press me to hell.
Impute me righteous, thus purged of evil,
For thus I leave the world, the flesh, the devil.

VII

At the round earth’s imagined corners blow
Your trumpets, angels, and arise, arise
From death, you numberless infinities
Of souls, and to your scattered bodies go;
All whom the flood did, and fire shall o’erthrow,
All whom war, death, age, agues, tyrannies,
Despair, law, chance hath slain, and you, whose eyes
Shall behold God, and never taste death’s woe.
But let them sleep, Lord, and me mourn a space;
For, if above all these my sins abound,
’Tis late to ask abundance of Thy grace,
When we are there. Here on this lowly ground,
Teach me how to repent, for that’s as good
As if Thou hadst seal’d my pardon with Thy blood.

VIII

If faithful souls be alike glorified
As angels, then my father’s soul doth see,
And adds this even to full felicity,
That valiantly I hell’s wide mouth o’erstride.
But if our minds to these souls be descried
By circumstances, and by signs that be
Apparent in us not immediately,
How shall my mind’s white truth by them be tried?
They see idolatrous lovers weep and mourn,
And stile blasphemous conjurers to call
On Jesu’s name, and pharisaical
Dissemblers feign devotion. Then turn,
O pensive soul, to God, for He knows best
Thy grief, for He put it into my breast.

IX

If poisonous minerals, and if that tree,
Whose fruit threw death on (else immortal) us,
If lecherous goats, if serpents envious
Cannot be damn’d, alas! why should I be?
Why should intent or reason, born in me,
Make sins, else equal, in me more heinous?
And, mercy being easy, and glorious
To God, in His stern wrath why threatens He?
But who am I, that dare dispute with Thee?
O God, O! of Thine only worthy blood,
And my tears, make a heavenly Lethean flood,
And drown in it my sin’s black memory.
That Thou remember them, some claim as debt;
I think it mercy if Thou wilt forget.

X

Death, be not proud, though some have called thee
Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so;
For those, whom thou think’st thou dost overthrow,
Die not, poor Death, nor yet canst thou kill me.
From rest and sleep, which but thy picture be,
Much pleasure, then from thee much more must flow,
And soonest our best men with thee do go,
Rest of their bones, and soul’s delivery.
Thou’rt slave to Fate, chance, kings, and desperate men,
And dost with poison, war, and sickness dwell,
And poppy, or charms can make us sleep as well,
And better than thy stroke; why swell’st thou then?
One short sleep past, we wake eternally,
And Death shall be no more; Death, thou shalt die.

XI

Spit in my face, you Jews, and pierce my side,
Buffet, and scoff, scourge, and crucify me,
For I have sinn’d, and sinn’d, and only He,
Who could do no iniquity, hath died.
But by my death can not be satisfied
My sins, which pass the Jews’ impiety.
They kill’d once an inglorious man, but I
Crucify him daily, being now glorified.
O let me then His strange love still admire;
Kings pardon, but He bore our punishment;
And Jacob came clothed in vile harsh attire,
But to supplant, and with gainful intent;
God clothed Himself in vile man’s flesh, that so
He might be weak enough to suffer woe.

XII

Why are we by all creatures waited on?
Why do the prodigal elements supply
Life and food to me, being more pure than I,
Simpler and further from corruption?
Why brook’st thou, ignorant horse, subjection?
Why dost thou, bull and boar, so sillily
Dissemble weakness, and by one man’s stroke die,
Whose whole kind you might swallow and feed upon?
Weaker I am, woe’s me, and worse than you;
You have not sinn’d, nor need be timorous.
But wonder at a greater, for to us
Created nature doth these things subdue;
But their Creator, whom sin, nor nature tied,
For us, His creatures, and His foes, hath died.

XIII

What if this present were the world’s last night?
Mark in my heart, O soul, where thou dost dwell,
The picture of Christ crucified, and tell
Whether His countenance can thee affright.
Tears in His eyes quench the amazing light;
Blood fills his frowns, which from His pierced head fell;
And can that tongue adjudge thee unto hell,
Which pray’d forgiveness for His foes’ fierce spite?
No, no; but as in my idolatry
I said to all my profane mistresses,
Beauty of pity, foulness only is
A sign of rigour; so I say to thee,
To wicked spirits are horrid shapes assign’d;
This beauteous form assumes a piteous mind.

XIV

Batter my heart, three-person’d God; for you
As yet but knock; breathe, shine, and seek to mend;
That I may rise, and stand, o’erthrow me, and bend
Your force, to break, blow, burn, and make me new.
I, like an usurp’d town, to another due,
Labour to admit you, but O, to no end.
Reason, your viceroy in me, me should defend,
But is captived, and proves weak or untrue.
Yet dearly I love you, and would be loved fain,
But am betroth’d unto your enemy;
Divorce me, untie, or break that knot again,
Take me to you, imprison me, for I,
Except you enthrall me, never shall be free,
Nor ever chaste, except you ravish me.

XV

Wilt thou love God as He thee? then digest,
My soul, this wholesome meditation,
How God the Spirit, by angels waited on
In heaven, doth make His temple in thy breast.
The Father having begot a Son most blest,
And still begetting⁠—for he ne’er begun⁠—
Hath deign’d to choose thee by adoption,
Co-heir to His glory, and Sabbath’s endless rest.
And as a robb’d man, which by search doth find
His stolen stuff sold, must lose or buy it again,
The Sun of glory came down, and was slain,
Us whom He had made, and Satan stole, to unbind.
’Twas much, that man was made like God before,
But, that God should be made like man, much more.

XVI

Father, part of His double interest
Unto Thy kingdom Thy Son gives to me;
His jointure in the knotty Trinity
He keeps, and gives to me his death’s conquest.
This Lamb, whose death with life the world hath blest,
Was from the world’s beginning slain, and He
Hath made two wills, which with the legacy
Of His and Thy kingdom do thy sons invest.
Yet such are these laws, that men argue yet
Whether a man those statutes can fulfil.
None doth; but thy all-healing grace and Spirit
Revive again what law and letter kill.
Thy law’s abridgement, and Thy last command
Is all but love; O let this last Will stand!

XVII

Since she whom I loved hath paid her last debt
To nature, and to hers, and my good is dead,
And her soul early into heaven ravished,
Wholly on heavenly things my mind is set.
Here the admiring her my mind did whet
To seek thee God; so streams do show their head,
But though I have found thee, and thou my thirst hast fed,
A holy thirsty dropsy melts me yet.
But why should I beg more love, when as thou
Dost woo my soul for hers; offering all thine:
And dost not only fear least I allow
My Love to saints and angels things divine,
But in thy tender jealousy dost doubt
Least the World, flesh, yea Devil put thee out.

XVIII

Show me dear Christ, thy spouse, so bright and clear.
What, is it she, which on the other shore
Goes richly painted? or which robbed and tore
Laments and mourns in Germany and here?
Sleeps she a thousand, then peeps up one year?
Is she self truth and errs? now new, now outwore?
Doth she, and did she, and shall she evermore
On one, on seven, or on no hill appear?
Dwells she with us, or like adventuring knights
First travail we to seek and then make Love?
Betray kind husband thy spouse to our sights,
And let mine amorous soul court thy mild dove,
Who is most true, and pleasing to thee, then
When she is embraced and open to most men.

XIX

Oh, to vex me, contraries meet in one:
Inconstancy unnaturally hath begot
A constant habit; that when I would not
I change in vows, and in devotion.
As humorous is my contrition
As my profane love, and as soon forgot:
As riddlingly distempered, cold and hot,
As praying, as mute; as infinite, as none.
I durst not view heaven yesterday; and today
In prayers, and flattering speeches I court God:
Tomorrow I quake with true fear of his rod.
So my devout fits come and go away
Like a fantastic ague: save that here
Those are my best days, when I shake with fear.

Father of Heaven, and Him, by whom
It, and us for it, and all else for us,
Thou madest and govern’st ever, come
And recreate me, now grown ruinous.
My heart is by dejection, clay,
And by self-murder, red.
From this red earth, O Father, purge away
All vicious tinctures, that new-fashioned
I may rise up from death, before I’m dead.

O Son of God, who, seeing two things,
Sin and Death, crept in, which were never made,
By bearing one, tried’st with what stings
The other could Thine heritage invade;
O be Thou nail’d unto my heart,
And crucified again;
Part not from it, though it from Thee would part,
But let it be by applying so Thy pain,
Drown’d in Thy blood, and in Thy passion slain.

O Holy Ghost, whose temple I
Am, but of mud walls, and condensèd dust,
And being sacrilegiously
Half wasted with youth’s fires of pride and lust,
Must with new storms be weather-beat,
Double in my heart Thy flame,
Which let devout sad tears intend, and let⁠—
Though this glass lantern, flesh, do suffer maim⁠—
Fire, sacrifice, priest, altar be the same.

O blessed glorious Trinity,
Bones to philosophy, but milk to faith,
Which, as wise serpents, diversely
Most slipperiness, yet most entanglings hath,
As you distinguish’d, undistinct,
By power, love, knowledge be,
Give me a such self different instinct,
Of these let all me elemented be,
Of power, to love, to know you unnumbered three.

For that fair blessed mother-maid,
Whose flesh redeem’d us, that she-cherubin,
Which unlock’d paradise, and made
One claim for innocence, and disseizèd sin,
Whose womb was a strange heaven, for there
God clothed Himself, and grew,
Our zealous thanks we pour. As her deeds were
Our helps, so are her prayers; nor can she sue
In vain, who hath such titles unto you.

And since this life our nonage is,
And we in wardship to Thine angels be,
Native in heaven’s fair palaces
Where we shall be but denizen’d by Thee;
As th’ earth conceiving by the sun,
Yields fair diversity,
Yet never knows what course that light doth run;
So let me study that mine actions be
Worthy their sight, though blind in how they see.

And let Thy patriarchs’ desire,
—Those great grandfathers of Thy Church, which saw
More in the cloud than we in fire,
Whom nature clear’d more, than us grace and law,
And now in heaven still pray, that we
May use our new helps right⁠—
Be satisfied, and fructify in me;
Let not my mind be blinder by more light,
Nor faith by reason added lose her sight.

Thy eagle-sighted prophets too,
—Which were Thy Church’s organs, and did sound
That harmony which made of two
One law, and did unite, but not confound;
Those heavenly poets which did see
Thy will, and it express
In rhythmic feet⁠—in common pray for me,
That I by them excuse not my excess
In seeking secrets, or poeticness.

And thy illustrious zodiac
Of twelve apostles, which engirt this All,
—From whom whosoever do not take
Their light, to dark deep pits throw down and fall;⁠—
As through their prayers Thou’st let me know
That their books are divine,
May they pray still, and be heard, that I go
Th’ old broad way in applying; O decline
Me, when my comment would make Thy word mine.

And since Thou so desirously
Didst long to die, that long before Thou couldst,
And long since Thou no more couldst die,
Thou in thy scatter’d mystic body wouldst
In Abel die, and ever since
In Thine; let their blood come
To beg for us a discreet patience
Of death, or of worse life; for O, to some
Not to be martyrs, is a martyrdom.

Therefore with Thee triumpheth there
A virgin squadron of white confessors,
Whose bloods betroth’d not married were,
Tender’d, not taken by those ravishers.
They know, and pray that we may know,
In every Christian
Hourly tempestuous persecutions grow;
Temptations martyr us alive; a man
Is to himself a Diocletian.

The cold white snowy nunnery,
Which, as Thy Mother, their high abbess, sent
Their bodies back again to Thee,
As Thou hadst lent them, clean and innocent;
Though they have not obtain’d of Thee,
That or Thy Church or I
Should keep, as they, our first integrity,
Divorce Thou sin in us, or bid it die,
And call chaste widowhead virginity.

The sacred academy above
Of doctors, whose pains have unclasp’d, and taught
Both books of life to us⁠—for love
To know Thy scriptures tells us, we are wrote
In Thy other book⁠—pray for us there,
That what they have misdone
Or missaid, we to that may not adhere.
Their zeal may be our sin. Lord, let us run
Mean ways, and call them stars, but not the sun.

And whilst this universal choir,
That Church in triumph, this in warfare here,
Warm’d with one all-partaking fire
Of love, that none be lost, which cost Thee dear,
Prays ceaselessly, and Thou hearken too
—Since to be gracious
Our task is treble, to pray, bear, and do⁠—
Hear this prayer, Lord; O Lord, deliver us
From trusting in those prayers, though pour’d out thus.

From being anxious, or secure,
Dead clods of sadness, or light squibs of mirth,
From thinking that great courts immure
All, or no happiness, or that this earth
Is only for our prison framed,
Or that Thou’rt covetous
To them whom Thou lovest, or that they are maim’d
From reaching this world’s sweet who seek Thee thus,
With all their might, good Lord, deliver us.

From needing danger, to be good,
From owing Thee yesterday’s tears today,
From trusting so much to Thy blood
That in that hope we wound our soul away,
From bribing Thee with alms, to excuse
Some sin more burdenous,
From light affecting, in religion, news,
From thinking us all soul, neglecting thus
Our mutual duties, Lord, deliver us.

From tempting Satan to tempt us
By our connivance, or slack company
From measuring ill by vicious
Neglecting to choke sin’s spawn, vanity,
From indiscreet humility,
Which might be scandalous
And cast reproach on Christianity,
From being spies, or to spies pervious,
From thirst or scorn of fame, deliver us.

Deliver us through Thy descent
Into the Virgin, whose womb was a place
Of middle kind; and Thou being sent
To ungracious us, stay’dst at her full of grace;
And through Thy poor birth, where first Thou
Glorified’st poverty;
And yet soon after riches didst allow,
By accepting kings’ gifts in th’ Epiphany;
Deliver us, and make us to both ways free.

And through that bitter agony,
Which is still th’ agony of pious wits,
Disputing what distorted Thee,
And interrupted evenness with fits;
And through Thy free confession,
Though thereby they were then
Made blind, so that Thou mightst from them have gone;
Good Lord, deliver us, and teach us when
We may not, and we may, blind unjust men.

Through Thy submitting all, to blows
Thy face, Thy robes to spoil, Thy fame to scorn,
All ways, which rage, or justice knows,
And by which Thou couldst show that Thou wast born;
And through Thy gallant humbleness
Which Thou in death didst show,
Dying before Thy soul they could express;
Deliver us from death, by dying so
To this world, ere this world do bid us go

When senses, which Thy soldiers are,
We arm against Thee, and they fight for sin;
When want, sent but to tame, doth war,
And work despair a breach to enter in;
When plenty, God’s image, and seal,
Makes us idolatrous,
And love it, not him, whom it should reveal;
When we are moved to seem religious
Only to vent wit; Lord, deliver us.

In churches, when th’ infirmity
Of him which speaks, diminishes the word;
When magistrates do misapply
To us, as we judge, lay or ghostly sword;
When plague, which is Thine angel, reigns,
Or wars, Thy champions, sway;
When heresy, Thy second deluge, gains;
In th’ hour of death, th’ eve of last Judgment day;
Deliver us from the sinister way.

Hear us, O hear us, Lord; to Thee
A sinner is more music, when he prays,
Than spheres’ or angels’ praises be,
In panegyric alleluias;
Hear us, for till Thou hear us, Lord,
We know not what to say;
Thine ear to our sighs, tears, thoughts, gives voice and word;
O Thou, who Satan heard’st in Job’s sick day,
Hear Thyself now, for Thou in us dost pray.

That we may change to evenness
This intermitting aguish piety;
That snatching cramps of wickedness
And apoplexies of fast sin may die;
That music of Thy promises,
Not threats in thunder may
Awaken us to our just offices;
What in Thy book Thou dost, or creatures say,
That we may hear, Lord, hear us when we pray.

That our ears’ sickness we may cure,
And rectify those labyrinths aright,
That we by heark’ning not procure
Our praise, nor others’ dispraise so invite;
That we get not a slipp’riness
And senselessly decline,
From hearing bold wits jest at kings’ excess,
To admit the like of majesty divine;
That we may lock our ears, Lord, open Thine.

That living law, the magistrate,
Which to give us, and make us physic, doth
Our vices often aggravate;
That preachers taxing sin, before her growth;
That Satan, and envenom’d men⁠—
Which will, if we starve, dine⁠—
When they do most accuse us, may see then
Us to amendment hear them, Thee decline;
That we may open our ears, Lord, lock Thine.

That learning, Thine ambassador,
From Thine allegiance we never tempt;
That beauty, paradise’s flower
For physic made, from poison be exempt;
That wit⁠—born apt high good to do⁠—
By dwelling lazily
On nature’s nothing be not nothing too;
That our affections kill us not, nor die;
Hear us, weak echoes, O, Thou Ear and Eye.

Son of God, hear us, and since Thou
By taking our blood, owest it us again,
Gain to Thyself, and us allow;
And let not both us and Thyself be slain;
O Lamb of God, which took’st our sin,
Which could not stick to Thee,
O let it not return to us again;
But patient and physician being free,
As sin is nothing, let it nowhere be.

Vengeance will sit above our faults; but till
She there do sit,
We see her not, nor them. Thus, blind, yet still
We lead her way; and thus, whilst we do ill,
We suffer it.

Unhappy he whom youth makes not beware
Of doing ill.
Enough we labour under age, and care;
In number, th’ errors of the last place are
The greatest still.

Yet we, that should the ill we now begin
As soon repent,
Strange thing! perceive not; our faults are not seen,
But past us; neither felt, but only in
The punishment.

But we know ourselves least; mere outward shows
Our minds so store,
That our souls no more than our eyes disclose
But form and colour. Only he who knows
Himself, knows more.

Chapter I

1. How sits this city, late most populous,
Thus solitary, and like a widow thus?
Amplest of nations, queen of provinces
She was, who now thus tributary is?

2. Still in the night she weeps, and her tears fall
Down by her cheeks along, and none of all
Her lovers comfort her; perfidiously
Her friends have dealt, and now are enemy

3. Unto great bondage, and afflictions,
Judah is captive led; those nations
With whom she dwells, no place of rest afford;
In straits she meets her persecutors’ sword.

4. Empty are the gates of Zion, and her ways
Mourn, because none come to her solemn days.
Her priests do groan, her maids are comfortless;
And she’s unto herself a bitterness.

5. Her foes are grown her head, and live at peace,
Because, when her transgressions did increase,
The Lord strook her with sadness; the enemy
Doth drive her children to captivity.

6. From Zion’s daughter is all beauty gone;
Like harts which seek for pasture, and find none,
Her princes are; and now before the foe
Which still pursues them, without strength they go.

7. Now in their days of tears, Jerusalem
—Her men slain by the foe, none succouring them⁠—
Remembers what of old she esteemed most,
Whiles her foes laugh at her, for what she hath lost.

8. Jerusalem hath sinn’d, therefore is she
Removed, as women in uncleanness be;
Who honour’d, scorn her, for her foulness they
Have seen; herself doth groan, and turn away.

9. Her foulness in her skirts was seen, yet she
Remember’d not her end; miraculously
Therefore she fell, none comforting; behold,
O Lord, my affliction, for the foe grows bold.

10. Upon all things where her delight hath been,
The foe hath stretch’d his hand, for she hath seen
Heathen, whom thou command’st should not do so,
Into her holy sanctuary go.

11. And all her people groan, and seek for bread;
And they have given, only to be fed,
All precious things, wherein their pleasure lay;
How cheap I’m grown, O Lord, behold, and weigh.

12. All this concerns not you, who pass by me;
O see, and mark if any sorrow be
Like to my sorrow, which Jehovah hath
Done to me in the day of His fierce wrath?

13. That fire, which by Himself is governed,
He hath cast from heaven on my bones, and spread
A net before my feet, and me o’erthrown,
And made me languish all the day alone.

14. His hand hath of my sins framèd a yoke
Which wreathed, and cast upon my neck, hath broke
My strength; the Lord unto those enemies
Hath given me, from whom I cannot rise.

15. He under foot hath trodden in my sight
My strong men; He did company accite
To break my young men; He the winepress hath
Trod upon Judah’s daughter in His wrath.

16. For these things do I weep; mine eye, mine eye
Casts water out; for He which should be nigh
To comfort me, is now departed far;
The foe prevails, forlorn my children are.

17. There’s none, though Zion do stretch out her hand,
To comfort her; it is the Lord’s command
That Jacob’s foes girt him; Jerusalem
Is as an unclean woman amongst them.

18. But yet the Lord is just, and righteous still;
I have rebell’d against His holy will;
O hear all people, and my sorrow see,
My maids, my young men in captivity.

19. I called for my lovers then, but they
Deceived me, and my priests, and elders lay
Dead in the city; for they sought for meat
Which should refresh their souls, and none could get.

20. Because I am in straits, Jehovah, see!
My heart o’erturn’d, my bowels muddy be;
Because I have rebell’d so much, as fast
The sword without, as death within, doth waste.

21. Of all which here I mourn, none comforts me;
My foes have heard my grief, and glad they be,
That Thou hast done it; but Thy, promised day
Will come, when, as I suffer, so shall they.

22. Let all their wickedness appear to Thee;
Do unto them, as Thou hast done to me,
For all my sins; the sighs which I have had
Are very many, and my heart is sad.

Chapter II

1. How over Zion’s daughter hath God hung
His wrath’s thick cloud? and from heaven hath flung
To earth the beauty of Israel, and hath
Forgot His footstool in the day of wrath?

2. The Lord unsparingly hath swallowed
All Jacob’s dwellings, and demolished
To ground the strength of Judah, and profaned
The Princes of the kingdom, and the land.

3. In heat of wrath the horn of Israel He
Hath clean cut off, and lest the enemy
Be hinder’d, His right hand He doth retire,
But is towards Jacob all-devouring fire.

4. Like to an enemy He bent His bow;
His right hand was in posture of a foe,
To kill what Zion’s daughter did desire,
’Gainst whom His wrath He poured forth like fire.

5. For like an enemy Jehovah is,
Devouring Israel, and his palaces,
Destroying holds, giving additions
To Judah’s daughters’ lamentations.

6. Like to a garden hedge He hath cast down
The place where was His congregation,
And Zion’s feasts and sabbaths are forgot;
Her King, her Priest, His wrath regardeth not.

7. The Lord forsakes His altar, and detests
His sanctuary, and in the foes’ hands rests
His palace, and the walls, in which their cries
Are heard, as in the true solemnities.

8. The Lord hath cast a line, so to confound
And level Zion’s walls unto the ground;
He draws not back His hand, which doth o’erturn
The wall, and rampart, which together mourn.

9. Their gates are sunk into the ground, and He
Hath broke the bar; their king and princes be
Amongst the heathen, without law, nor there
Unto their prophets doth the Lord appear.

10. There Zion’s elders on the ground are placed,
And silence keep; dust on their heads they cast;
In sackcloth have they girt themselves, and low
The virgins towards ground their heads do throw.

11. My bowels are grown muddy, and mine eyes
Are faint with weeping; and my liver lies
Pour’d out upon the ground, for misery
That sucking children in the streets do die.

12. When they had cried unto their mothers, “Where
Shall we have bread, and drink?” they fainted there,
And in the street like wounded persons lay,
Till ’twixt their mothers’ breasts they went away.

13. Daughter Jerusalem, O what may be
A witness, or comparison for thee?
Zion, to ease thee, what shall I name like thee?
Thy breach is like the sea; what help can be?

14. For thee vain foolish things thy prophets sought;
Thee, thine iniquities they have not taught,
Which might disturb thy bondage; but for thee
False burdens, and false causes they would see.

15. The passengers do clap their hands, and hiss
And wag their head at thee, and say, “Is this
That city, which so many men did call
Joy of the earth, and perfectest of all?”

16. Thy foes do gape upon thee, and they hiss,
And gnash their teeth, and say, “Devour we this,
For this is certainly the day which we
Expected, and which now we find, and see.”

17. The Lord hath done that which He purposèd;
Fulfill’d His word of old determinèd;
He hath thrown down, and not spared, and thy foe
Made glad above thee, and advanced him so.

18. But now their hearts unto the Lord do call;
Therefore, O walls of Zion, let tears fall
Down like a river, day and night; take thee
No rest, but let thine eye incessant be.

19. Arise, cry in the night, pour out thy sins,
Thy heart, like water, when the watch begins;
Lift up thy hands to God, lest children die,
Which, faint for hunger, in the streets do lie.

20. Behold, O Lord, consider unto whom
Thou hast done this; what, shall the women come
To eat their children of a span? shall Thy
Prophet and priest be slain in sanctuary?

21. On ground in streets the young and old do lie;
My virgins and young men by sword do die;
Them in the day of Thy wrath Thou hast slain;
Nothing did Thee from killing them contain.

22. As to a solemn feast, all whom I fear’d
Thou call’st about me; when Thy wrath appear’d,
None did remain or scape, for those which I
Brought up, did perish by mine enemy.

Chapter III

1. I am the man which have affliction seen,
Under the rod of God’s wrath having been;
2. He hath led me to darkness, not to light,
3. And against me all day, His hand doth fight.

4. He hath broke my bones, worn out my flesh and skin,
5. Built up against me; and hath girt me in
With hemlock, and with labour; 6. And set me
In dark, as they who dead forever be.

7. He hath hedged me lest I ’scape, and added more
To my steel fetters heavier than before.
8. When I cry out He outshuts my prayer; 9. And hath
Stopp’d with hewn stone my way, and turn’d my path.

10. And like a lion hid in secrecy,
Or bear which lies in wait, He was to me.
11. He stops my way, tears me, made desolate;
12. And He makes me the mark He shooteth at.

13. He made the children of His quiver pass
Into my reins. 14. I, with my people, was
All the day long, a song and mockery.
15. He hath fill’d me with bitterness, and He

Hath made me drunk with wormwood. 16. He hath burst
My teeth with stones, and cover’d me with dust.
17. And thus my soul far off from peace was set,
And my prosperity I did forget.

18. My strength, my hope⁠—unto myself I said⁠—
Which from the Lord should come, is perished?
19. But when my mournings I do think upon,
My wormwood, hemlock, and affliction,

20. My soul is humbled in rememb’ring this;
21. My heart considers, therefore, hope there is.
22. ’Tis God’s great mercy we’re not utterly
Consumed, for His compassions do not die;

23. For every morning they renewed be,
For great, O Lord, is Thy fidelity.
24. The Lord is⁠—saith my soul⁠—my portion,
And therefore in Him will I hope alone.

25. The Lord is good to them, who on Him rely,
And to the soul that seeks Him earnestly.
26. It is both good to trust, and to attend
The Lord’s salvation unto the end.

27. ’Tis good for one His yoke in youth to bear.
28. He sits alone, and doth all speech forbear,
Because he hath borne it. 29. And his mouth he lays
Deep in the dust, yet then in hope he stays.

30. He gives his cheeks to whosoever will
Strike him, and so he is reproached still.
31. For not forever doth the Lord forsake;
32. But when He hath struck with sadness, He doth take

Compassion, as His mercy’s infinite;
33. Nor is it with His heart, that He doth smite,
34. That underfoot the prisoners stamped be,
35. That a man’s right the judge himself doth see

To be wrung from him; 36. That he subverted is
In his just cause, the Lord allows not this.
37. Who then will say, that aught doth come to pass,
But that which by the Lord commanded was?

38. Both good and evil from His mouth proceeds;
39. Why then grieves any man for his misdeeds?
40. Turn we to God, by trying out our ways;
41. To Him in heav’n our hands with hearts upraise.

42. We have rebell’d, and fallen away from Thee;
Thou pardon’st not; 43. Usest no clemency;
125 Pursuest us, kill’st us, cover’st us with wrath;
44. Cover’st Thyself with clouds, that our prayer hath

No power to pass. 45. And Thou hast made us fall
As refuse, and off-scouring to them all.
46. All our foes gape at us. 47. Fear and a snare
With ruin, and with waste upon us are.

48. With watery rivers doth mine eye o’erflow
For ruin of my people’s daughters so;
49. Mine eye doth drop down tears incessantly,
50. Until the Lord look down from heav’n to see.

51. And for my city daughters’ sake, mine eye
Doth break mine heart. 52. Causeless mine enemy
Like a bird chased me. 53. In a dungeon
They’ve shut my life, and cast me on a stone.

54. Waters flow’d o’er my head; then thought I, I am
Destroy’d; 55. I called, Lord, upon Thy name
Out of the pit; 56. And Thou my voice didst hear;
O from my sigh and cry, stop not Thine ear.

57. Then when I call’d upon Thee, Thou drew’st near
Unto me, and said’st unto me, “Do not fear.”
58. Thou, Lord, my soul’s cause handled hast, and Thou
Rescuest my life. 59. O Lord, do Thou judge now.

Thou heardst my wrong, 60. Their vengeance, all they’ve wrought;
61. How they reproach’d, Thou’st heard, and what they thought;
62. What their lips utter’d, which against me rose,
And what was ever whisper’d by my foes.

63. I am their song, whether they rise or sit;
64. Give them rewards, Lord, for their working fit,
65. Sorrow of heart, Thy curse; 66. And with Thy might
Follow, and from under heaven destroy them quite.

Chapter IV

1. How is the gold become so dim? How is
Purest and finest gold thus changed to this?
The stones which were stones of the sanctuary,
Scatter’d in corners of each street do lie.

2. The precious sons of Zion, which should be
Valued at purest gold, how do we see
Low rated now, as earthen pitchers, stand,
Which are the work of a poor potter’s hand?

3. Even the sea-calfs draw their breasts, and give
Suck to their young; my people’s daughters live,
By reason of the foes’ great cruelness,
As do the owls in the vast wilderness.

4. And when the sucking child doth strive to draw,
His tongue for thirst cleaves to his upper jaw;
And when for bread the children cry,
There is no man that doth them satisfy.

5. They which before were delicately fed,
Now in the streets forlorn have perished;
And they which ever were in scarlet clothed,
Sit and embrace the dunghills which they loathed.

6. The daughters of my people have sinn’d more,
Than did the town of Sodom sin before;
Which being at once destroy’d, there did remain
No hands amongst them to vex them again.

7. But heretofore, purer her Nazarite
Was than the snow, and milk was not so white;
As carbuncles did their pure bodies shine,
And all their polish’dness was sapphirine.

8. They’re darker now than blackness; none can know
Them by the face, as through the street they go;
For now their skin doth cleave unto their bone,
And withered, is like to dry wood grown.

9. Better by sword than famine ’tis to die;
And better through-pierced, than through penury.
10. Women, by nature pitiful, have eat
Their children⁠—dress’d with their own hand⁠—for meat.

11. Jehovah here fully accomplish’d hath
His indignation, and pour’d forth His wrath;
Kindled a fire in Zion, which hath power
To eat, and her foundations to devour.

12. Nor would the kings of th’ earth, nor all which live
In the inhabitable world believe,
That any adversary, any foe,
Into Jerusalem should enter so.

13. For the priests’ sins, and prophets’, which have shed
Blood in the streets and the just murdered;
14. Which, when those men whom they made blind did stray
Thorough the streets, defiled by the way

With blood, the which impossible it was
Their garment should ’scape touching, as they pass,
15. Would cry aloud, “Depart, defilèd men,
Depart, depart, and touch not us!” and then

They fled, and stray’d, and with the Gentiles were;
Yet told their friends, they should not long dwell there.
16. For this they’re scatter’d by Jehovah’s face,
Who never will regard them more; no grace

Unto their old men shall the foe afford;
Nor, that they’re priests, redeem them from the sword.
17. And we as yet, for all these miseries
Desiring our vain help, consume our eyes.

And such a nation as cannot save,
We in desire and speculation have;
18. They hunt our steps, that in the streets we fear
To go; our end is now approached near.

Our days accomplish’d are; this the last day;
Eagles of heav’n are not so swift as they
19. Which follow us; o’er mountain tops they fly
At us, and for us in the desert lie.

20. Th’ Anointed Lord, breath of our nostrils, He
Of whom we said, under His shadow we
Shall with more ease under the heathen dwell,
Into the pit which these men digged, fell.

21. Rejoice, O Edom’s daughter, joyful be
Thou that inhabit’st Uz, for unto thee
This cup shall pass, and thou with drunkenness
Shalt fill thyself, and show thy nakedness.

22. Then thy sins, O Zion, shall be spent,
The Lord will not leave thee in banishment.
Thy sins, O Edom’s daughter, He will see,
And for them, pay thee with captivity.

Chapter V

1. Remember, O Lord, what is fall’n on us;
See, and mark how we are reproached thus;
2. For unto strangers our possession
Is turn’d, our houses unto aliens gone.

3. Our mothers are become as widows; we
As orphans all, and without fathers be,
4. Waters which are our own, we drink and pay;
And upon our own wood a price they lay.

5. Our persecutors on our necks do sit;
They make us travail, and not intermit;
6. We stretch our hands unto th’ Egyptians
To get us bread; and to th’ Assyrians.

7. Our fathers did these sins, and are no more;
But we do bear the sins they did before.
8. They are but servants, which do rule us thus,
Yet from their hands none would deliver us.

9. With danger of our life our bread we gat;
For in the wilderness the sword did wait.
10. The tempests of this famine we lived in,
Black as an oven colour’d had our skin.

11. In Judah’s cities they the maids abused
By force, and so women in Zion used.
12. The princes with their hands they hung; no grace
Nor honour gave they to the elder’s face.

13. Unto the mill our young men carried are,
And children fell under the wood they bare.
14. Elders the gates, youth did their songs forbear;
Gone was our joy; our dancings, mournings were.

15. Now is the crown fall’n from our head; and woe
Be unto us, because we’ve sinnèd so.
16. For this our hearts do languish, and for this
Over our eyes a cloudy dimness is.

17. Because Mount Zion desolate doth lie,
And foxes there do go at liberty;
18. But Thou, O Lord, art ever, and Thy throne
From generation to generation.

19. Why shouldst Thou forget us eternally?
Or leave us thus long in this misery?
20. Restore us, Lord, to Thee, that so we may
Return, and as of old, renew our day.

21. For oughtest Thou, O Lord, despise us thus,
And to be utterly enraged at us?

Wilt Thou forgive that sin where I begun,
Which was my sin, though it were done before?
Wilt Thou forgive that sin, through which I run,
And do run still, though still I do deplore?
When Thou hast done, Thou hast not done,
For I have more.

Wilt Thou forgive that sin which I have won
Others to sin, and made my sin their door?
Wilt Thou forgive that sin which I did shun
A year or two, but wallowed in a score?
When Thou hast done, Thou hast not done,
For I have more.

I have a sin of fear, that when I have spun
My last thread, I shall perish on the shore;
But swear by Thyself, that at my death Thy Son
Shall shine as he shines now, and heretofore;
And, having done that, Thou hast done;
I fear no more.