Ralph Waldo Emerson, comp. (1803–1882). Parnassus: An Anthology of Poetry. 1880.
Psalm CXXXIXSir Philip Sidney (15541586)
O L
But to thy search revealèd lies;
For when I sit
Thou markest it;
Nor less thou notest when I rise:
Yea, closest closet of my thought
Hath open windows to thine eyes.
When to my bed for rest I go,
I find thee there,
And everywhere;
Not youngest thought in me doth grow,
No, not one word I cast to talk
But, yet unuttered, thou dost know.
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,
But never reach with earthly mind.
O whither might I take my way?
To starry sphere?
Thy throne is there:
To dead men’s undelightsome stay?
There is thy walk, and there to lie
Unknown, in vain should I assay.
Suppose thy lightful flightful wings
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.
In sable veil to cover me:
Thy sable veil
Shall vainly fail:
With day unmasked my night shall be,
For night is day, and darkness light,
O Father of all lights, to thee.