A1r

Sermons
of John Calvin,

upon the Songe
that Ezechias made after
he had bene sicke, and
afflicted by the hand of
God,
conteyned in the INTERNAL ERROR. Please report to wwp@neu.edu that regMe is unmatched.38. Chapiter
of EsayEsayas
.

Translated out of Frenche
into Englishe.

15601560.
Newly set fourth and allowed, accordyng to
the order appointed in the Queenes Majesties
Injunctions.

Imprinted at London, over Aldersgate,
by John Day.

And are there to be solde at his shoppe
under the Gate.

Cum Gratia & privilegio
Regiæ majestatis.
A1v omitted A2r

B-G8; pp. 1-79 + 3 unnumbered pagesexcerpt

Aa1r

A Meditation
of a Penitent
Sinner:

Written
in Maner of a
Paraphrase upon the
51. Psalme of David.

I have added this meditation folowyng
unto the ende of this boke,
not as parcell of maister Calvines
worke, but for that it well agreeth
with the same argument, and was delivered
me by my frend with whom
I knew I might be so bolde to use &
publishe it as pleased me.

Aa1v Aa2r

The preface, expressing
the passioned minde of
the penitent sinner.

The hainous gylt of my forsaken ghost

So threates, alas, unto my febled sprite

Deserved death, and (that me greveth most)

Still stand so fixt before my daseld sight

The lothesome filthe of my disteined life,

The mighty wrath of myne offended Lorde,

My Lord whos wrath is sharper than the knife,

And deper woundes than dobleedged sworde,

That, as the dimmed and fordulled eyen

Full fraught with teares & more & more opprest

With growing streames of the distilled bryne

Sent from the fornace of a gretefull brest,

Can not enjoy the comfort of the light,

Nor finde the waye wherin to walke aright:

So I blinde wretch, whome Gods enflamed ire

With pearcing stroke hath throwne unto the groūund,

Amidde my sinnes still groveling in the myre,

Finde not the way that other oft have found,

Whome cherefull glimse of gods abounding grace

Hath oft releved and oft with shyning light

Hath brought to joy out of the ugglye place,

Where I in darke of everlasting night

Bewayle my woefull and unhappy case,

And fret my dyeng soule with gnawing paine,

Yet blinde, alas, I groape about for grace.

While blinde for grace I groape about in vaine,

My fainting breath I gather up and straine,

Mercie, mercie to crye and crye againe.

A.ii. But Aa2v

But mercy while I found with shreking crye

For graūunt of grace and pardon while I pray,

Even then despeir before my ruthefull eye

Spredes forth my sinne & shame, & semes to saye

In vaine thou brayest forth thy bootlesse noyse

To him for mercy, O refused wight,

That heares not the forsaken sinners voice.

Thy reprobate and foreordeined sprite,

For damned vessell of his heavie wrath,

(As selfe witnes of the beknowyng hart,

And secrete gilt of thine owne conscience saith)

Of his swete promises can claime no part:

But thee, caytif, deserved curse doeth draw

To hell, by justice, for offended law.

This horror whēen my trēembling soule doth heare,

When markes and tokens of the reprobate,

My growing sinnes, of grace my senslesse cheare,

Enforce the profe of everlastyng hate,

That I conceive the heavens king to beare

Against my sinfull and forsaken ghost:

As in the throte of hell, I quake for feare,

And then in present perill to be lost

(Although by conscience wanteth to replye,

But with remorse enforcing myne offence,

Doth argue vaine my not availyng crye)

With woefull sighes and bitter penitence

To him from whom the endlesse mercy flowes

I cry for mercy to releve my woes.

And then not daring with presuming eye

Once to beholde the angry heavens face,

From troubled sprite I send confused crye,

To crave the crummes of all sufficing grace.

With Aa3r

With foltring knee I fallyng to the ground,

Bendyng my yelding handes to heavens throne,

Poure forth my piteous plaint with woefull sound,

With smoking sighes & oft repeted grone,

Before the Lord, the Lord, whom synner I,

I cursed wretch, I have offended so,

That dredyng, in his wrekefull wrath to dye,

And damned downe to depth of hell to go,

Thus tost with panges and passions of despeir,

Thus crave I mercy with repentant chere.

Aa.3
Aa3v


A Meditation of a penitent
sinner, upon the 51.
Psalme.

Have mercy, God, for thy great mercies
sake.

O God: my God, unto my shame I say.

Beynge fled from thee, so as I dred to
take

Thy name in wretched mouth, and feare
to pray

Or aske the mercy that I have abusde.

But, God of mercy, let me come to thee:

Not for justice, that justly am accusde:

Which selfe word Justice so amaseth me,

That scarce I dare thy mercy sound againe.

But mercie, Lord, yet suffer me to crave.

Mercie is thine: Let me not crye in vaine,

Thy great mercie for my great fault to have.

Have mercie, God, pitie my penitence

With greater mercie than my great offence.

“Have mercie
upon
me (o God)
after thy
great merci”

My many sinnes in nomber are encreast,

With weight wherof in sea of depe despeire

My sinking soule is now so sore opprest,

That now in peril and in present fere,

I crye: susteine me, Lord, and Lord I pray,

With endlesse nomber of thy mercies take

The endlesse nomber of my sinnes away.

So Aa4r

So by thy mercie, for thy mercies sake,

Rue on me, Lord, releve me with thy grace.

My sinne is cause that I so nede to have

Thy mercies ayde in my so woefull case:

My synne is cause that scarce I dare to crave

Thy mercie manyfolde, whiche onely may

Releve my soule, and take my sinnes away.

“And according

unto the
multitude
of thy mercies
do away
myne
offences.”

So foule is sinne and lothesome in thy sighte,

So foule with sinne I see my selfe to be,

That till from sinne I may be washed white,

So foule I dare not, Lord, approche to thee.

Ofte hath thy mercie washed me before,

Thou madest me cleane: but I am foule againe.

Yet washe me Lord againe, and washe me more.

Washe me, O Lord, and do away the staine

Of uggly sinnes that in my soule appere.

Let flow thy plēentuous streames of clensing grace.

Washe me againe, yea washe me every where,

Bothe leprous bodie and defiled face.

Yea washe me all, for I am all uncleane,

And from my sin, Lord, cleanse me ones againe.

“Wash me
yet more
from my
wickednes,
and clense
me from
my sinne.”

Have mercie, Lord, have mercie: for I know

How muche I nede thy mercie in this case.

The horror of my gilt doth dayly growe,

And growing weares my feble hope of grace.

I fele and suffer in my thralled brest

Secret remorse and gnawing of my hart.

I fele my sinne, my sinne that hath opprest

My soule with sorrow and surmounting smart.

Drawe me to mercie: for so oft as I

Presume Aa4v

Presume to mercy to direct my sight,

My Chaos and my heape of sinne doth lie,

Betwene me and thy mercies shining light.

What ever way I gaze about for grace,

My filth and fault are ever in my face.

“For I knowledge
my
wickednes,
and my
sinne is ever
before
me.”

Graunt thou me mercy, Lord: thee thee alone

I have offended, and offendyng thee,

For mercy loe, how I do lye and grone,

Thou with allpearcing eye beheldest me,

Without regard that sinned in thy sight.

Beholde againe, how now my spirite it rues,

And wailes the tyme, when I with foule delight

Thy swete forbearing mercy did abuse.

My cruell conscience with sharpned knife

Doth splat my ripped hert, and layes abrode

The lothesome secretes of my filthy life,

And spredes them forth before the face of God.

Whōom shame frōom dede shamelesse cold not restrain,

Shame for my dede is added to my paine.

“Againste
thee onelye
have I sinned,
& don
evill in thy
sight.”

But mercy Lord, O Lord some pitie take,

Withdraw my soule from the deserved hell,

O Lord of glory, for thy glories sake:

That I may saved of thy mercy tell,

And shew how thou, which mercy hast behight

To sighyng sinners, that have broke thy lawes,

Performest mercy: so as in the sight

Of them that judge the justice of thy cause

Thou onely just be demed, and no moe,

The worldes unjustice wholy to confound:

That damning me to depth of during woe

Just in thy judgement shouldest thou be found:

And from deserved flames relevyng me

Just Aa5r

Just in thy mercy mayst thou also be.

“That thou
mightest be
founde just
in thy sayinges,
and
maiest overcome
when
thou art
judged.”

For lo, in sinne, Lord, I begotten was,

With sede and shape my sinne I toke also,

Sinne is my nature and my kinde alas,

In sinne my mother me conceived: Lo

I am but sinne, and sinfull ought to dye,

Dye in his wrath that hath forbydden sinne.

Such bloome and frute loe sinne doth multiplie,

Such was my roote, such is my juyse within.

I plead not this as to excuse my blame,

On kynde or parentes myne owne gilt to lay:

But by disclosing of my sinne, my shame,

And nede of helpe, the plainer to displaye

Thy mightie mercy, if with plenteous grace

My plenteous sinnes it please thee to deface.

“For loe, I
was shapen
in wickednes,
and in
sinne my
mother cōonceived
me.”

Thou lovest simple sooth, not hidden face

With trutheles visour of deceiving showe.

Lo simplie, Lord, I do confesse my case,

And simplie crave thy mercy in my woe.

This secrete wisedom hast thou graunted me,

To se my sinnes, & whence my sinnes do growe:

This hidden knowledge have I learnd of thee,

To fele my sinnes, and howe my sinnes do flowe

With such excesse, that with unfained hert,

Dreding to drowne, my Lorde, lo howe I flee,

Simply with teares bewailyng my desert,

Releved simply by thy hand to be.

Thou lovest truth, thou taughtest me the same.

Helpe, Lord of truth, for glory of thy name.

“But lo, thou
haste loved
trueth, the
hidden and
secrete thinges
of thy
wisedome
thou haste
opened unto
me.”

With swete Hysope besprinkle thou my sprite:

Not such hysope, nor so besprinkle me,

As Aa5v

As law unperfect shade of perfect lyght

Did use as an apointed signe to be

Foreshewing figure of thy grace behight.

With death and bloodshed of thine only sonne,

The swete hysope, cleanse me defyled wyght,

Sprinkle my soule. And when thou so haste done,

Bedeawd with droppes of mercy and of grace,

I shalbe cleane as cleansed of my synne.

Ah wash me, Lord: for I am foule alas:

That only canst, Lord, wash me well within,

Wash me, O Lord: when I am washed soe,

I shalbe whiter than the whitest snowe.

“Sprinkle
me, Lorde,
with hisope
and I shalbe
cleane:
washe me
and I shalbe
whiter
then snow.”

Long have I heard, & yet I heare the soundes

Of dredfull threates and thonders of the law,

Which Eccho of my gylty minde resoundes,

And with redoubled horror doth so draw

My listening soule from mercies gentle voice,

That louder, Lorde, I am constraynde to call:

Lorde, pearce myne eares, & make me to rejoyse,

When I shall heare, and when thy mercy shall

Sounde in my hart the gospell of thy grace.

Then shalt thou geve my hearing joy againe,

The joy that onely may releve my case.

And then my broosed bones, that thou with paine

Hast made to weake my febled corps to beare,

Shall leape for joy, to shewe myne inward chere.

“Thou shalt
make me
heare joye
and gladnesse,
and
the bones
which thou
hast broken
shal rejoyse”

Loke on me, Lord: though trēembling I beknowe,

That sight of sinne so sore offendeth thee,

That seing sinne, how it doth overflowe

My whelmed soule, thou canst not loke on me,

But with disdaine, with horror and despite.

Loke on me, Lord: but loke not on my sinne.

Not Aa6r

Not that I hope to hyde it from thy sight,

Which seest me all without and eke within.

But so remove it from thy wrathfull eye,

And from the justice of thyne angry face,

That thou impute it not. Looke not how I

Am foule by sinne: but make me by thy grace

Pure in thy mercies sight, and, Lord, I pray,

That hatest sinne, wipe all my sinnes away.

“Turne away
thy
face from
my sinnes,
and do away
all my
misdedes.”

Sinne and despeir have so possest my hart,

And hold my captive soule in such restraint,

As of thy mercies I can fele no part,

But still in languor do I lye and faint.

Create a new pure hart within my brest:

Myne old can hold no liquour of thy grace.

My feble faith with heavy lode opprest

Staggring doth scarcely creepe a reeling pace,

And fallen it is to faint to rise againe.

Renew, O Lord, in me a constant sprite,

That stayde with mercy may my soule susteine,

A sprite so setled and so firmely pight

Within my bowells, that it never move,

But still uphold thassurance of thy love.

“Create a
cleane hart
within me,
O God: and
renew a
stedfast spirit
within
my bowels.”

Loe prostrate, Lorde, before thy face I lye,

With sighes depe drawne depe sorow to expresse.

O Lord of mercie, mercie do I crye:

Dryve me not from thy face in my distresse,

Thy face of mercie and of swete relefe,

The face that fedes angels with onely sight,

The face of comfort in extremest grefe.

Take not away the succour of thy sprite,

Thy holy sprite, which is myne onely stay,

The stay that when despeir assaileth me,

In Aa6v

In faintest hope yet moveth me to pray,

To pray for mercy, and to pray to thee.

Lord, cast me not from presence of thy face,

Nor take from me the spirite of thy grace.

“Cast me
not away
from thy
face, and
take not
thy holy
spirit from
me.”

But render me my wonted joyes againe,

Which sinne hath reft, and planted in theyr place

Doubt of thy mercy ground of all my paine.

The tast, that thy love whilome did embrace

My chearfull soule, the signes that dyd assure

My felyng ghost of favor in thy sight,

Are fled from me, and wretched I endure

Senslesse of grace the absence of thy sprite.

Restore my joyes, and make me fele againe

The swete retorne of grace that I have lost,

That I may hope I pray not all in vayne.

With thy free sprite confirme my feble ghost,

To hold my faith from ruine and decay

With fast affiance and assured stay.

“Restore to
me the comforte
of thy
saving helpe,
& stablishe
me
with thy
free spirit.”

Lord, of thy mercy if thou me withdraw

From gaping throte of depe devouring hell,

Loe, I shall preach the justice of thy law:

By mercy saved, thy mercy shall I tell.

The wicked I wyll teache thyne only way,

Thy wayes to take, and mans devise to flee,

And suche as lewd delight hath ledde astray,

To rue theyr errour and returne to thee.

So shall the profe of myne example preache

The bitter frute of lust and foule delight:

So shall my pardon by thy mercy teache

The way to finde swete mercy in thy sight.

Hyave mercy, Lorde, in me example make

Of lawe and mercy, for thy mercies sake.

“I shal teach
thy waies
unto the
wicked, &
sinnes shall
be touruned
unto thee.”
O God Aa7r

O God, God of my health, my saving God,

Have mercy Lord, and shew thy might to save,

Assoile me, God, from gilt of giltlesse blod,

And eke from sinne that I ingrowing have

By fleshe and bloud and by corrupted kinde.

Upon my bloud and soule extende not, Lorde,

Vengeance for bloud, but mercy let me finde,

And strike me not with thy revengyng sworde.

So, Lord, my joying tong shall talke thy praise,

Thy name my mouth shall utter in delight,

My voice shall sounde thy justice, and thy waies,

Thy waies to justifie thy sinfull wight.

God of my health, from bloud I saved so

Shall spred thy prayse for all the world to know.

“Deliver me
from bloud
o God, God
of my helth
; my tong
shall joyfullye
talke of
thy justice.”

Lo straining crampe of colde despeir againe

In feble brest doth pinche my pinyng hart,

So as in greatest nede to cry and plaine

My speache doth faile to utter thee my smart.

Refreshe my yeldyng hert, with warming grace,

And loose my speche, and make me call to thee.

Lord open thou my lippes to shewe my case,

My Lord, for mercy Loe to thee I flee.

I can not pray without thy movyng ayde,

Ne can I ryse, ne can I stande alone.

Lord, make me pray, & graūunt whēen I have praide.

Lord loose my lippes, I may expresse my mone,

And findyng grace with open mouth I may

Thy mercies praise, and holy name display.

“Lord, open
thou my lippes,
and my
mouth shal
shewe thy
praise.”

Thy mercies praise, instede of sacrifice,

With thankfull minde so shall I yeld to thee.

For if it were delitefull in thine eyes,

Or hereby mought thy wrath appeased be,

Of Aa7v

Of cattell slayne and burnt with sacred flame

Up to the heaven the vaprie smoke to send:

Of gyltlesse beastes, to purge my gilt and blame,

On altars broylde the savour shold ascend,

To pease thy wrath. But thy swete sonne alone,

With one sufficing sacrifice for all

Appeaseth thee, and maketh the at one

With sinfull man, and hath repaird our fall.

That sacred hoste is ever in thine eyes.

The praise of that I yeld for sacrifice.

“If thou
haddest desired
sacrifice,
I wold
have geven
thou delytest
not in
burnt offringes.”

I yeld my self, I offer up my ghoste,

My slayne delightes, my dyeng hart to thee.

To God a trobled sprite is pleasing hoste.

My trobled sprite doth drede like him to be,

In whome tastlesse languor with lingring paine

Hath febled so the starved appetite,

That foode to late is offred all in vaine,

To holde in fainting corps the fleing sprite.

My pining soule for famine of thy grace

So feares alas the faintnesse of my faithe,

I offre up my trobled sprite: alas,

My trobled sprite refuse not in thy wrathe.

Such offring likes thee, ne wilt thou despise

The broken humbled hart in angry wise.

“The sacrifice
to God
is a trobled
spirit: a broken
and an
humbled
hart, o god,
thou wilt
not despise.”

Shew mercie, Lord, not unto me alone:

But stretch thy favor and thy pleased will,

To sprede thy bountie and thy grace upon

Sion, for Sion is thy holly hyll:

That thy Hierusalem with mighty wall

May be enclosed under thy defense,

And bylded so that it may never fall

By myning fraude or mighty violence.

Defende Aa8r

Defend thy chirch, Lord, and advaunce it soe,

So in despite of tyrannie to stand,

That trēembling at thy power the world may know

It is upholden by thy mighty hand:

That Sion and Hierusalem may be

A safe abode for them that honor thee.

“Shew favour,
o lord
in thy good
will unto
Sion, that
the walles.
of Hierusalem
may be
bylded.”

Then on thy hill, and in thy walled towne,

Thou shalt receave the pleasing sacrifice,

The brute shall of thy praised name resoune

In thankfull mouthes, and then with gentle eyes

Thou shalt behold upon thine altar lye

Many a yelden host of humbled hart,

And round about then shall thy people crye:

We praise thee, God our God: thou onely art

The God of might, of mercie, and of grace.

That I then, Lorde, may also honor thee,

Beleve my sorow, and my sinnes deface:

Be, Lorde of mercie, mercifull to me:

Restore my feling of thy grace againe:

Assure my soule, I crave it not in vaine.

“Then shalt
thou accept
the sacrifice
of righteousnesse,

burnt offringes
and
oblations.
then shall
they offre
yonge bullockes
upon
thine altare.”

Finis.