A paraphrase upon the psalms of David :: :: University of Virginia Library

And who that Great Salvation art
Thou day and night hast heard me groan,
O, let Thine Ears at length affect Thine heart!
To Thee I pray, let my Prayer come to Thee,
Or if that cannot reach so high, stoop Thou to me!

II

Hear me, my God for I am wondrous low,
And to the grave my life draws nigh;
Loaded with cares my Soul do's go,
And in the Pit is readie down to lie:
Already I am numbred with the Dead,
And that small strength I had (Weakness at best) is fled.

III

Free as the Dead, and like one long since slain,
Who is forgotten in the Grave,
And never shall return again,
Or, but upon his Tomb, Memoriall have;
Low in the Pit I'm lai'd down in the Deep,
And its rough waves my head do under water keep.

IV

Far from me Thou hast put my Nearest Friends,
Who as forsaken look on me;
Because my God no succour sends,
They think me hated, or unknown to Thee:

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As in a Pest-house quite given o're I'm laid,
And those, who pitty me, are of my Sores afraid.

V

My eyes with teares o'recome yet look to Thee,
And for Thy help I daily cry:
When at night I cannot see,
With stretcht out armes I feel if Thou art nigh:
“Wilt Thou, say I to th' Dead Thy wonders show,
“Let me but see them, Lord, and Thou do'st truly so!

VI

“Shall the Dead rise, and praise Thee, or Thy love,
“Be in the Land of Darkness seen?
“Shall in the Grave Thy Praise improve,
“Sung there, where silence has for ever been?
“Where dark oblivion uncontroll'd do's reign,
“And dismal Horror riots o're the empty Plain?

VII

And then again I new Petitions make,
And would prevent Thee with my Prayer;
With Thee the Morning do's partake,
And with my tears instead of dew looks fair:
But thou withdraw'st Thy self, and out of sight,
Hid'st in thick Clouds that Face, which gives me all my light.

VIII

From my youth up I have Thy Terrors felt,
Ready with grief and pain to die;
Thy Wrath like fire my Soul do's melt,
And quite consumes, what it should purifie;
Or like a troubled Sea do's o're me roll,
And thus by several Deaths, or burns, or drowns my Soul.

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IX

Far from me Thou hast put my Nearest Friend,
Whom Thou at first to me didst give;
(Though Death Our Friendship cannot end,
For in the sad Survivour it shall live.)
My Dear Acquaintance in the grave is laid,
And Two, whom God made One, Death again Two has made.

P. M. O. C.