Aug. 9.

When He Fled From Absalom.

Lord how many are my foes

How many those

That in arms against me rise

Many are they

That of my life distrustfully thus say,

No help for him in God there lies.

But thou Lord art my shield my glory,

Thee through my story

Th’ exalter of my head I count

Aloud I cry’d

Unto Jehovah, he full soon reply’d

And heard me from his holy mount.

I lay and slept, I wak’d again,

For my sustain

Was the Lord. Of many millions

The populous rout

I fear not though incamping round about

They pitch against me their Pavillions.

Rise Lord, save me my God for thou

Hast smote ere now

On the cheek-bone all my foes,

Of men abhor’d

Hast broke the teeth. This help was from the Lord;

Thy blessing on thy people flows.



 

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Biography of John Milton

More poems by John Milton