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O Lamb of God, which tookst our sin *
Which could not stick to thee,
O let it not return to us again,
But Patient and Physitian being free,
As sin is nothing, let it no where be.
Upon the translation of the Psalms by Sir Phi-
lip Sydney, and the Countess of Pembrook
his Sister.
Eternal God, (for whom who ever dare
Seek new expressions, do the Circle square,
And thrust into strait corners of poor wit
Thee, who art cornerless and infinite)
I would but bless thy Name, not name thee now;
(And thy gifts are as infinite as thou:)
Fix we our praises therefore on this one,
That as thy blessed Spirit fell upon
These Psalms first Author in a cloven tongue,
(For 'twas a double power by which he sung
The highest matter in the noblest form;)
So thou hast cleft that Spirit, to perform
That work again, and shed it, here, upon
Two, by their bloods, and by thy Spirit one;
A brother and a Sister, made by thee
The Organ, where thou art the Harmony,
Two that make one Iohn Baptists holy voice;
And who that Psalm, Now let the Isles rejoyce,
Have both translated, and apply'd it too,
Both told us what, and taught us how to do.
They shew us Ilanders our joy, our King,
They tell us why, and teach us how to sing.

[CW: Make]