Mine eyes with fervencie of sprite I doe lift up on hie: To thee O Lord that dwellst in light which no man may come nie. Beehold even as the servants eyes, Upon their master waite: And as the maide her mistris hand, with carefull eye and straite, Attends: So wee O Lord our God, thy throne with hope and griefe Beehold, untill thou mercie send, And give us some reliefe. O Lord though wee deserve it not, yet mercie let us finde: A people that despised are, throwne downe in soule and minde, The mightie proud men of the world, that seekes us to oppresse: have fild our soules with all contempts, and left us in distresse. (An anonymous metrical version of Psalm 123)