The Fifth Penitential Psalm (Psalm 102)

Off diepe secretes that David here did sing,
Off mercy, off fayth, off fraihe, off grace.
Off Goddes goodnes, and of Justifying,
The gretnes dyd so astonne hym selff a space.
As who myght say : who hath exprest this thing ?
I synner I, what have I sayd, alas?
That Goddes goodnes wold within my song entrete.
Let me agayne considre and repete.

And so he doth; but not exprest by word,
But in his hert he tornith, and paysith
Ech word that erst his lypps myght forth aford.
He poyntes, he pawsith, he wonders, he praysith.
The marcy, that hydes of Justice the swourd,
The Justice that so his promesse complysyth
For his wordes sake, to worthilesse desert
That gratis his graces to men doth depart.

Here hath he comfort, when he doth mesure
Mesureles marcys to mesureles fawte,
To prodigal sinners infinit tresure,
Tresure termeles that never shall defawte,
Ye when that sinn shall fayle & may not dure
Mercy shall reygne ; gaine whome shall no assawte
Off hell prevaile, by whome lo at this day,
Off hevin gates Remission is the kay.

And when David hath ponderd well and tryd,
And seith hym sellff not utterly deprivid
From lyght of grace, that derk of sinn dyd hyde.
He fyndes his hope so much therwith revivid,
He dare importune the Lord on every syde ;
For he knowth well to mercy is ascrybid
Respectles labour, importune, crye and call,
And thus begynth his song therwithall :

Lord ! here my prayer ! and let my crye passe
Unto The Lord withowte impediment ;
Do not from me tome thy merciful! face,

Unto my sellff leving my government.
In tyme off troble and adversitye
Inclyne to me thyn ere, and thyn intent,

And when so I call help my necessitye ;
Redely graunt theffect off my desyre;
Thes bold demaundes do plese thy majestye

And ek my Case, such hast doth well require.
For like as smok my days bene past awaye.
My bonis dryd up as forneis with the fyre;

My hert my mynd is wytherd up like haye,
By cawse I have forgot to take my brede
My brede of lyff , the word of trowth I saye ;

And ffor my plaintes, my syghes and my drede
My bonis, my strenght, my very force of mynde
Cleved to the flesh, and from the spryte were flede.

I as dispairate thy mercy for to fynd,
So made I me the solaine pelycane :
And lyke th owle that fleith, by propre kynd,

Lyght of the day, and hath her sellff betane
To kuyut lyff, out off all companye,
With waker care that with this wo bygane;

Lik the sparow was I solytarye
That sittes alone under the howsis eves;
This while my foes conspired continually

And did provok the harme off my dises;
Wherfor like ashes my bred did me savour
Of thi just word, the tast myght not me pies.

Wherfor my drynk I temperd with lycour
Off weping teris, that from myn lyes do rayne
By cawse I know the wrath off thy furour,

Provokt by ryght had off my pride disdayne;
For thou didst lyfft me up to throw me downe
To teche me how to know my sellff agayne,

Wherby I knew that helples I shold drowne.
My days like shadow declyme and I do drye;
I And The, for ever Eternte doth crowne ;

World withowt end doth last thy memorye.
For this frailte that yokyth all manekynd,
Thou shalt a wake, and rue this misery;

Rue on Syon, Syon that, as I ffynd
Is the peple that lyve under thy law;
For now is tyme, the tyme at hand assynd,

The tyme so long, that doth thy servantes draw
In gret desyre, to se that plesant day.
Day off redeming Syon ffrom sins Aw.

Ffor they have ruth to se in such dekay,
In dust and stones, this wrechid Syon lowr;
Then the gentilles shall dred thy name alway ;

All erthly kinges thy glory shall honour,'
Then when thy grace thi Syon thus redemith.
When thus thou hast declard thy myghtye powre :

The Lord, his servauntes wishis so estemith
That he hym tornth unto the poores request,
To our discent this to be written semith

Off all comfortes as consolation best.
And thei that then shalbe regenerate
Shall praise the Lord therfore both most and lest.

Ffor he hath lokt from the heyght of his estate;
The Lord from hevyn in yerth hath lokt on us,
To here the mone of them that as algate

In fowle bondage ; to lose and to discus
The sonns of deth owt from theire dedly bond;
To gyve therby occasion gracius;

In this Syon, His holy name to stond,
And in Hierusalem his laudes lastyng ay,
When in one chirche the peple off the lond,

And remes, bene gaderd to serve, to lawd, to pray.
The Lord alone so just and mercyfull.
But to this samble runnyng in the way

My strenght faylyth to reche it at the full ;
He hathe abrigd my days, they may not dure
To se that terme, that terme so wonderfull,

Altho I have with herty will and cure
Prayd to the Lord : Take me not Lord away
In myddes off my yeres, tho thyn, ever sure

Remayne eterne, whom tyme can not dekay.
Thow wrowghtst the yerth, thy handes thevyns did
make

Thei shall perysh and thou shall last alway.
And althinges aye shall were and overtake
Like cloth, and thou shalt chainge them like aparell,

Tourne and translate, and thei in worth it take;
But Thou Thy sellff, the sellff remaynist well
That thou wast erst ; and shalt thi yeres extend ;

Then sins to this there may nothing rebell,
The gretest comfort that I can pretend
Is, that the childerne off thy servantes dere

That in thy word ar gott, shall withowt end
Byfore thy face be stablisht all in fere.