The repetition of words in the beginning of the second stanza produces a remarkably fine effect.
PSALM XCIII.
Clothed with state, and girt with might, Monarch-like Jehovah reigns; He who earth's foundation pight-- _pitched._ Pight at first, and yet sustains; He whose stable throne disdains Motion's shock and age's flight; He who endless one remains One, the same, in changeless plight.
Rivers--yea, though rivers roar, Roaring though sea-billows rise, Vex the deep, and break the shore-- Stronger art thou, Lord of skies! Firm and true thy promise lies Now and still as heretofore: Holy worship never dies In thy house where we adore.
I close my selections from Sidney with one which I consider the best of all: it is the first half of _Lord, thou hast searched me._ PSALM CXXXIX.
O Lord, in me there lieth nought But to thy search revealed lies; For when I sit Thou markest it; No less thou notest when I rise: Yea, closest closet of my thought Hath open windows to thine eyes.
Thou walkest with me when I walk When to my bed for rest I go, I find thee there, And every where: Not youngest thought in me doth grow, No, not one word I cast to talk But, yet unuttered, thou dost know.
If forth I march, thou goest before; 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 earthy mind.
To shun thy notice, leave thine eye, 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 I should assay.
O sun, whom light nor flight can match! Suppose thy lightful flightful wings Thou lend to me, And I could flee As far as thee the evening brings: Ev'n led to west he would me catch, Nor should I lurk with western things.
Do thou thy best, O secret night, 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.
Note the most musical play with the words _light_ and _flight_ in the fifth stanza.

There is hardly a line that is not delightful.
They were a wonderful family those Sidneys.

Mary, for whom Philip wrote his chief work, thence called "The Countess of Pembroke's _Arcadia,_" was a woman of rare gifts.

The chief poem known to be hers is called _Our Saviour's Passion_.

It is full of the faults of the age.