GEORGE WITHER.

To your voices tune the lute;
Let nor tongue nor string be mute;
Nor a creature dumb be found,
That hath either voice or sound.

Let such things as do not live,
In still-music praises give.
Lowly pipe, ye worms that creep
On the earth, or in the deep.
Loud, aloft, your voices strain,
Beasts and monsters of the main.
Birds, your warbling treble sing.
Clouds, your peals of thunder ring.
Sun and moon, exalted higher,
And you stars, augment the quire.

Come, ye sons of human race,
In this chorus take your place,
And amid the mortal throng,
Be you masters of the song.
Angels, and celestial powers,
Be the noblest tenor your's.
Let (in praise of God) the sound
Run in a never-ending round,
That our holy hymn may be
Everlasting, as is He..

From the earth's vast hollow womb

Music's deepest bass shall come.

Seas and floods, from shore to shore,
Shall the counter-tenor roar.
To this concert (when we sing)
Whistling winds, your descant bring,
Which may bear the sound above,
Where the orb of fire doth move;
And so climb from sphere to sphere,
Till our song th' Almighty hear.

So shall He, from heaven's high tower,
On the earth His blessing shower:
All this huge, wide orb we see,
Shall one quire, one temple be.

129

There our voices we will rear,
Till we fill it everywhere,

And enforce the fiends that dwell

In the air, to sink to hell.

Then, O come, with sacred lays,

Let us sound th' Almighty's praise.

GEORGE SANDYS.

Ever since the psalms of George Sandys* were pronounced by Montgomery "incomparably the most poetical in the English language," they have received a large measure of attention. The eulogy is not extravagant, but many are rendered in metres altogether unadapted to congregational worship.

The first edition, a small folio, appeared in 1638. It was one of a few books with which Charles I. solaced his captivity in Carisbrook Castle.

Besides two psalms, properly so called, we give, on account of its fine elegiac strain, "David's Lament for Saul and Jonathan."

Psalm xv.

Who shall in Thy tent abide?

On Thy holy hill reside?
He that's just and innocent,

Tells the truth of his intent;

Slanders none with venom'd tongue;
Fears to do his neighbour wrong;

Fosters not base infamies;
Vice beholds with scornful eyes;
Honours those who fear the Lord;
Keeps, though to his loss, his word;
Takes no bribes for wicked ends,

Nor to use his money lends.

Who by these directions guide

Their pure steps, shall never slide.

* Sandys has been already noticed, vol. i. p. 321; where, however, he is mentioned by mistake as Hooker's visitor at Drayton-Beauchamp, instead of his brother Edwin.

GEORGE SANDYS.

Psalm Ixí.

My God, thy servant hear;
lend a willing ear!
In exile my sad heart,
From earth's remotest part,
O'erwhelm'd with miseries,
To Thee for succour cries.
To that high Rock, O lead,
So far above my head!
Thou wert, and art my tower,
Against oppressing power.
For to Thy sacred court
I ever shall resort;
Secure beneath Thy wings,
From all their menacings :

Even Thou my suit hast sign'd;
A king by Thee design'd,

To govern such as will

Thy holy law fulfil.

Whom Thou long life wilt give,

He ages shall outlive;

His throne shall stand before

Thy face for evermore.

Thy mercy, Lord, extend;

Him for Thy truth defend.

Then I in cheerful lays
Will celebrate Thy praise;
And to Thee every day

My vows devoutly pay.

The Birge of King David for Saul and Jonathan.

Thy beauty, Israel, is fled,

Sunk to the dead.

How are the valiant fall'n! the slain
Thy mountains stain.

131

O let it not in Gath be known;
Nor in the streets of Ascalon!

Lest that sad story should excite
Their dire delight:

Lest in the torrent of our woe,
Their pleasure flow:

Lest their triumphant daughters ring
Their cymbals, and cursed pæans sing.

You hills of Gilboa, never may
You offerings pay;

No morning dew nor fruitful showers
Clothe you with flowers:

Saul and his arms there made a spoil,
As if untouch'd with sacred oil.

The bow of noble Jonathan

Great battles won:

His arrows on the mighty fed
With slaughter red.

Saul never raised his arm in vain;
His sword still glutted with the slain.

How lovely! O how pleasant! when
They lived with men!
Than eagles swifter; stronger far
Than lions are:

Whom love in life so strongly tied
The stroke of death could not divide.

Sad Israel's daughters, weep for Saul;
Lament his fall:

Who fed you with the earth's increase, And crown'd with peace,

With robes of Tyrian purple deck'd,

And gems, which sparkling light reflect.

How are thy worthies by the sword
Of war devour'd!

O Jonathan, the better part

Of my torn heart !

FRANCIS ROUSE.

The savage rocks have drunk thy blood,
My brother! O how kind! how good!

Thy love was great; O never more
To man, man bore!

No woman, when most passionate,
Loved at that rate!

How are the mighty fall'n in fight!
They and their glory set in night!

FRANCIS ROUSE.

133

Francis Rouse* was a member of the long Parliament; and after the removal of John Hales, he became Provost of Eton. In 1641 he published a version of the Psalms, which was adopted by the Assembly of Divines, at Westminster, as the basis of a national psalmody. On the subject, Robert Baillie, one of the Scotch commissioners, thus writes:-" Ane old, most honest member of the House of Commons, Mr Rous, hes helped the old Psalter in most places faultie. His friends are verie pressing in the Assemblie that his book may be examined, and helped by the author in what places it shall be found meet, and then be commended to the Parliament, that they may injoin the publick use of it. One of their considerations is, the great private advantage that would thereby come to their friend. But manie do oppose the motion-the most because the work is not so well done as they think it might. . . . We, underhand, will mightilie oppose it; for the Psalter is a great part of our uniformitie, which we cannot let pass till our Church be well advysed with it."+ However, the matter passed so far, that in 1645 Mr Rouse's version, as revised by the Assembly, was printed by order of Parliament, and recommended to general acceptance. The Church of Scotland, nevertheless, retained the privileges of which Baillie was so * Born at Halton, Cornwall, 1579; died at Acton, Middlesex, Jan. 7, 1659.

Baillie's Letters and Journal, vol. ii., p. 120.