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12 The true, elect, and ryghteous man,
Shall florishe lyke the palme;
Hymselfe shall sprede wyth balme. 13 Depe planted, they, in rootes alway
In God's swete house to bide,
Of this our God and guyde.
Theyr fruit abundantly;
To bear moet fruitfully.
This Lord's true faithfulness,
Who hateth unryghteousness.
THE COLLECTE. Almighty God, which art the contynuall ioye and perpetuall felicitye of all thy sayntes, whom thou doost inwardly water with the dew of thy heauenly grace, whereby thou makest them to floryshe like the palme tree in the celestiall courts of thy Church : we besech thee that thou would so discusse from vs the burdenous weight of sinne, that we may enioye their felowship. Through Christ etc.
Wyth death the sting.
Dyd say to Christ, my Lord, his Sonne,-
As subiectes thrall. 2 The Lord shall send from Zion place
Of thy great power, imperiall,
in princely wyse. 3 The people, glad, in hartes delight,
Shall offer giftes, in worship free,
So seene on earth. 4 The Lord did sweare, and fast decreed ;
He will hys worde no tyme repent,
Of order namde Melchisedeck,
As God's elect. 5 The Lord, as shield, kepth right thy hand
To make thy raigne inuincible :
By fearefull sound. 6 He iudgment true shall exercise,
As iudge among the Gentile sect;
Or scorne hys myght. 7 Though here exilde, he strayth as bond,
And shall in way but water drynke
THE COLLECTE. O Lord, the eternall Sonne of the Father, which wast begotten before the world was made, and art the first of all creatures, we lowly beseche thee that where, by the session of the ryhte hande of thy Father, thou subduest thy enemies, so make vs to subdue all the dominion of sinne rising against vs, to be made meete to serue thee in all godliness: who liuest and raignest one God wyth the Father, and the Holy Ghost. Amen.
AN HYMNE OF HEAVENLY LOVE. Love, lift me up upon thy golden wings From this base world unto thy heaven's hight, Where I may see those admirable things Which there thou workest by thy soveraine might, Farre above feeble reach of earthly sight, That I thereof an heavenly hymne may sing Unto the God of Love, high heaven's King. Many lewd layes (ah! woe is me the more !) In praise of that mad fit which fooles call Love, I have in th' heate of youth made heretofore, That in light wits did loose affection move : But all these follies now I do reprove, And turned have the tenor of my string, The heavenly prayses of true Love to sing. And ye, that wont with greedy vaine desire To reade my fault, and, wondring at my flame, To warme yourselves at my wide sparckling fire, Sith now that heat is quenched, quench my blame, And in her ashes shrowd my dying shame; For who my passed follies now pursewes, Beginnes his
old fault renewes. BEFORE THIS WORLD'S GREAT FRAME, in which
al things Are now contained, found any being-place, Ere Aitting Time could wag his eyas wings About that mightie bound which doth embrace The rolling spheres, and parts their houres by space,
That High Eternall Powre, which now doth move