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Poem by John Milton Psalm 80 Thou Shepherd that dost Israel keep Give ear in time of need, Who leadest like a flock of sheep Thy loved Josephs seed, That sitt'st between the Cherubs bright Between their wings out-spread Shine forth, and from thy cloud give light, And on our foes thy dread. In Ephraims view and Benjamins, And in Manasse's sight Awake* thy strength, come, and be seen *Gnorera. To save us by thy might. Turn us again, thy grace divine To us O God vouchsafe; Cause thou thy face on us to shine And then we shall be safe. Lord God of Hosts, how long wilt thou, How long wilt thou declare Thy *smoaking wrath, and angry brow *Gnashanta. Against thy peoples praire. Thou feed'st them with the bread of tears, Their bread with tears they eat, And mak'st them* largely drink the tears *Shalish. Wherewith their cheeks are wet. A strife thou mak'st us and a prey To every neighbour foe, Among themselves they *laugh, they *play, *Jilgnagu. And *flouts at us they throw. Return us, and thy grace divine, O God of Hosts vouchsafe Cause thou thy face on us to shine, And then we shall be safe. A Vine from Aegypt thou hast brought, Thy free love made it thine, And drov'st out Nations proud and haut To plant this lovely Vine. Thou did'st prepare for it a place And root it deep and fast That it began to grow apace, And fill'd the land at last. With her green shade that cover'd all, The Hills were over-spread Her Bows as high as Cedars tall Advanc'd their lofty head. Her branches on the western side Down to the Sea she sent, And upward to that river wide Her other branches went. Why hast thou laid her Hedges low And brok'n down her Fence, That all may pluck her, as they go, With rudest violence? The tusked Boar out of the wood Up turns it by the roots, Wild Beasts there brouze, and make their food Her Grapes and tender Shoots. Return now, God of Hosts, look down From Heav'n, thy Seat divine, Behold us, but without a frown, And visit this thy Vine. Visit this Vine, which thy right hand Hath set, and planted long, And the young branch, that for thy self Thou hast made firm and strong. But now it is consum'd with fire, And cut with Axes down, They perish at thy dreadfull ire, At thy rebuke and frown. Upon the man of thy right hand Let thy good hand be laid, Upon the Son of Man, whom thou Strong for thyself hast made. So shall we not go back from thee To wayes of sin and shame, Quick'n us thou, then gladly wee Shall call upon thy Name. Return us, and thy grace divine Lord God of Hosts voutsafe, Cause thou thy face on us to shine, And then we shall be safe. John Milton John Milton's other poems: 1604 Views |
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