THE SACRED POETS OF ENGLAND AND AMERICA GEORGE GASCOIGNE. THIS poet, who was born in 1540, is very justly placed among the worthies of early English poetical literature. He was bred to the law, but quitted it, and served with distinction against the Spaniards. His principal work is "The Fruits of War," which relates to the adventures of his voyage. In his youth he was a profligate, but he lived to amend his ways, and became a wise and good man. He died in a religious, calm, and happy frame of mind, in 1577. The writings of Gascoigne are more the result of observation than of creative genius. For the age in which he lived, the verse is uncommonly smooth, flowing, and unaffected. FROM depth of dole, wherein my soul doth dwell, My God, my Lord, my lovely Lord, alone Wherein I faint; Oh! hear me, then, for thy great mercy's sake. Oh! bend thine ears attentively to hear, Oh! turn thine eyes, behold me how I wail! Oh! hearken, Lord, give ear for mine avail, Oh! mark in mind the burdens that I bear; See how I sink in sorrows everywhere. Behold and see what dolors I endure, Give ear and mark what plaints I put in ure;' Bend willing ears; and pity therewithal My willing voice, Which hath no choice But evermore upon thy name to call. If thou, good Lord, shouldst take thy rod in hand, If thou regard what sins are daily done, If thou take hold where we our works begun, If thou decree in judgment for to stand, And be extreme to see our 'scuses' scanned; If thou take note of every thing amiss, And write in rolls how frail our nature is, O glorious God, O King, O Prince of power! What mortal wight May thus have light To feel thy power, if thou have list to lower? But thou art good, and hast of mercy store, Thou not delight'st to see a sinner fall, Thine ears are set wide open evermore, Thou art more prest to hear a sinner cry True witness bear, How fast they stand which on thy mercy stay. I look for thee, my lovely Lord, therefore Mine eyes do long to gaze on thee my fill, My soul doth thirst to take of thee a taste, My love and lust, In confidence continually shall cleave. Before the break or dawning of the day, My soul, my sense, my secret thought, my sprite, Unto the Lord, that sits in heaven on high, From me doth fling, And striveth still unto the Lord to fly. O Israel! O household of the Lord! O Abraham's sons! O brood of blessed seed! O hungry hearts! feed still upon his word, For He hath mercy evermore at hand, His fountains flow, his springs do never stand; And plenteously He loveth to redeem Such sinners all As on Him call, And faithfully his mercies most esteem. |