Women's Writings on Christian Spirituality by Molly Hand

Author:Molly Hand
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Dover Publications
Published: 2013-01-15T00:00:00+00:00

Mary Sidney Herbert, Countess of Pembroke

(1561–1621)

Mary Sidney was the sister of writer Philip Sidney (whose works include the Defense of Poesie and Astrophil and Stella). She was highly educated, and her family was closely affiliated with the Elizabethan court. She married Henry Herbert, the Earl of Pembroke. As Countess of Pembroke, Mary became a patron of the arts, and thus was the dedicatee of poems from several highly regarded Elizabethan poets. Mary Sidney Herbert and Philip Sidney were very close, and what is known as the Sidney Psalter, begun by Philip, was completed by Mary after his death. The manuscript was circulated among and highly regarded by the family’s aristocratic circle.

Psalm 52

TYRANT, why swell’st thou thus,

Of mischief vaunting?

Since help from God to us

Is never wanting.

Lewd lies thy tongue contrives,5

Loud lies it soundeth;

Sharper than sharpest knives

With lies it woundeth.

Falsehood thy wit approves,

All truth rejected:10

Thy will all vices loves,

Virtue neglected.

Not words from cursed thee,

But gulfs are poured;

Gulfs wherein daily be15

Good men devoured.

Think’st thou to bear it so?

God shall displace thee;

God shall thee overthrow,

Crush thee, deface thee.20

The just shall fearing see

These fearful chances,

And laughing shoot at thee

With scornful glances.

Lo, lo, the wretched wight,25

Who God disdaining,

His mischief made his might,

His guard his gaining.

I as an olive tree

Still green shall flourish:30

God’s house the soil shall be

My roots to nourish.

My trust in his true love

Truly attending,

Shall never thence remove,35

Never see ending.

Thee will I honor still,

Lord, for this justice;

There fix my hopes I will

Where thy saints’ trust is.40

Thy saints trust in thy name,

Therein they joy them:

Protected by the same,

Naught can annoy them.

(Wr. probably before 1599; pub. 1823)

Psalm 139

O LORD, O Lord, in me there lieth nought

But to thy search revealed lies,

For when I sit

Thou markest it;

No less thou notest when I rise;5

Yea, closest closet of my thought

Hath open windows to thine eyes.

Thou walkest with me when I walk;

When to my bed for rest I go,

I find thee there,10

And everywhere:

Not youngest thought in me doth grow,

No, not one word I cast to talk

But yet unuttered thou dost know.

If forth I march, thou goest before,15

If back I turn, thou com’st behind:

So forth nor back

Thy guard I lack,

Nay on me too, thy hand I find.

Well I thy wisdom may adore,20

But never reach with earthy mind.

To shun thy notice, leave thine eye,

O whither might I take my way?

To starry sphere?

Thy throne is there.25

To dead men’s undelightsome stay?

There is thy walk, and there to lie

Unknown, in vain I should assay.

O sun, whom light nor flight can match,

Suppose thy lightful flightful wings30

Thou lend to me,

And I could flee

As far as thee the evening brings:

Even led to west he would me catch,

Nor should I lurk with western things.35

Do thou thy best, O secret night,

In sable veil to cover me:

Thy sable veil

Shall vainly fail;

With day unmasked my night shall be,40

For night is day, and darkness light,

O father of all lights, to thee.

Each inmost piece in me is thine:

While yet I in my mother dwelt,

All that me clad45

From thee I had.

Thou in my frame hast strangely dealt:

Needs in my praise thy works must shine

So inly them my thoughts have felt.

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