To thee I cry My crying heare To Thee my praying voice doth fly Lord lend my voice a listning eare From Country bannished All Comfort vanished To Thee I run when storms are nigh. Up to Thy hill Lord make me clime Which else to scale exceeds my skill For in my most distressed time Thy eye attended me Thy hand defended mee Against my foe for my fortresse still. Then where a Tent For Thee is made To harbour still is my intent And to Thy wings protecting shade My self I carry will And there I tarry will Safe from all shott against me bent What first I crave First granting me That I the royall rule may have Of such as feare and honour Thee Let yeeres as manyfold As can be any told My King O God keep from the grave. Before Thy face Grant ever he May sit, and let Thy truth and grace His endless guard appointed be Then singing pleasantly Praysing uncessantly I dayly vowes will pay to thee. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...I AM BORNE ONWARD by SARA TEASDALE A FORGOTTEN TUNE by PAUL VERLAINE THE MARTYRS OF THE MAINE by RUPERT HUGHES POOR [OR, COCK] ROBIN by MOTHER GOOSE TO THE DAISY (2) by WILLIAM WORDSWORTH A GULL GOES UP by LEONIE ADAMS A TURKISH LEGEND by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH |