Verse > Anthologies > Edward Farr, comp. > Elizabethan Poetry
Edward Farr, ed.  Select Poetry of the Reign of Queen Elizabeth.  1845.
The Ninth Teare
LXXXVII. Anonymous
WHERE is thy mercie, which exceeds thy power,
  Great Intercessor for the sinnes of man?
The one thy arme oppresseth euery hower;
  O let the other fall as thick as sand.
Our sinnes abound so much, thy mercie more;        5
Els shall I thinke thou wilt not me restore.
The wicked flourish like the freshest baye,
  And they are counted for the happiest men;
But I am laught at, who do daily pray:
  If Peter should dispaire, sweete Lord, how then!        10
To see that they which neuer thinke on thee
Spend out their dayes in chiefe prosperitie.
But, Lord, I do forsee the end of those:
  Thou wilt be deafe when they shall call to thee;
I shall be heard before mine eyes do close;        15
  O gracious God, that is enough for mee—
But they, when as they helpe shall most require,
Shall dye with blindnesse of their ill desire.
Their heauen is earth; my earth is onely hell;
  Their ioy is riches, mine thy sauing health:        20
That which all ioy and gladnesse dooth excell,
  The bodie’s treasure, and the soule’s rich wealth:
O let me once possesse that ioyfull place,
  And separate me from their sinfull race.
Here is nothing but the deadly sinnes of shame,        25
  That like a serpent spitteth venome foorth:
They which comes neare them haue the like defame;
  So are thy chosen held like them in worth:
Wipe, Lord, this wicked slaunder from thine owne,
And hast vs quickly to thy heauenly throne.        30
Then shall we looke on earthly vanities,
  And loath that we did euer liue therein;
Pitty the world’s accurst calamities:
  When we are chang’d from that we once had beene,
Then shall thy seruant Peter weepe no more,        35
Because of heauenly things he tastes such store.

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