Sir Henry Wotton (1568 - 1639 / England)
A Translation Of The CIV. Psalm To The Original Sense
My soul exalt the Lord with Hymns of praise:
O Lord my God, how boundless is thy might?
Whose Throne of State is cloath'd with glorious rays,
And round about hast rob'd thy self with light.
Who like a curtain hast the Heavens display'd,
And in the watry Roofs thy Chambers laid.
Whose chariots are the thickned clouds above,
Who walk'st upon the winged winds below,
At whose command the airy Spirits move,
And fiery meteors their obedience show.
Who on this Base the earth didst firmly found,
And mad'st the deep to circumvest it round.
The waves that rise would drown the highest hill,
But at thy cheek they flie, and when they hear
Thy thundring voice, they post to do thy will,
And bound their furies in their proper sphere:
Where surging floods, and valing ebbs can tell,
That none beyond thy marks must sink or swell.
Who hath dispos'd, but thou, the winding way
Where springs down from the steepy crags do beat,
At which doth foster'd Beasts their thirsts allay,
And the wild Asses come to quench their heat;
Where Birds resort, and in their kind, thy praise
Among the branches chant in warbling laies.
The mounts are watred from thy dwelling place,
The barns and meads are fill'd for man and beast;
Wine glads the heart, and oyl adorns the face,
And bread the staff whereon our strength doth rest;
Nor shrubs alone feel thy suffizing hand,
But even the Cedars that so proudly stand.
So have the Fowls their sundry seats to breed,
The ranging Stork, in stately Beeches dwells;
The climing Goats on hills securely feed,
The mining Conies shroud in rocky Cells:
Nor can the heavenly lights their course forget,
The Moon her turns, or Sun his times to set.
Thou mak'st the Night to over-vail the Day;
The savage Beasts creep from the silent wood,
Then Lions whelps lie roaring for their prey,
And at thy powerful hand demand their food:
Who when at morn they all recouch again,
Then toyling man till eve pursues his pain.
O Lord, when on thy various works we look,
How richly furnish'd is the earth we tread!
Where, in the fair Contents of Nature's Book,
We may the wonders of thy wisdom read:
Nor earth alone, but lo, the sea so wide,
Where great & small, a world of creatures glide.
There go the Ships that furrow out their way;
Yea, thereof Whales enormous sights we see,
Which yet have scope among the rest to play,
And all do wait for their support on thee:
Who hast assign'd each thing his proper food,
And in due season dost dispence thy good.
They gather when thy gifts thou dost divide;
Their stores abound, if thou thy hand enlarge;
Confus'd they are, when thou thy beams dost hide;
In dust resolv'd, if thou their breath discharge.
Again, when thou of life renew'st the seeds,
The withered fields revest their chearful weeds.
Be ever gloried here thy Soveraign Name,
That thou may'st smile on all which thou hast made;
Whose frown alone can shake this earthly frame,
And at whose touch the hills in smoak shall vade.
For me, may (while I breathe) both harp & voice,
In sweet indictment of thy Hymns rejoyce.
Let Sinners fail, let all Profaness cease;
His Praise, (my Soul) His Praise shall be thy Peace.
Comments about this poem (A Translation Of The CIV. Psalm To The Original Sense by Sir Henry Wotton )
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