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Domine deus salutis.
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 | The Whole Booke of Psalmes, collected into Englysh metre by T. Starnhold I. Hopkins & others: conferred with the Ebrue, with apt Notes to synge the[m] withal |  |
Domine deus salutis.
Psalme. lxxxviii.
I.H.
A grieuous complaynt of the faythfull, sore afflicted by sicknes persecution and aduersitie: being as it were left of God without any consolation? yet he calleth on God by fayth and striueth against desperation, complayning him selfe to be forsaken of all yearthly healpe.
Lorde
God of health ye hope & staye
thou art alone to me,
I call & cry throughoute the daye,
and all the nighte to thee.
O let my prayers sone ascende,
vnto thy sight on hyghe,
enclyne thyne eare O Lorde entend,
and herken to my cry.
thou art alone to me,
I call & cry throughoute the daye,
and all the nighte to thee.
O let my prayers sone ascende,
216
enclyne thyne eare O Lorde entend,
and herken to my cry.
For why my soule with wo is filled,
and doth in trouble dwell:
My lyfe and breath almost doth yelde,
and draweth nye to hell.
I am estemd as one of them,
that in the pit doo fall:
And made as one, among those men,
that haue no strength at all.
and doth in trouble dwell:
My lyfe and breath almost doth yelde,
and draweth nye to hell.
I am estemd as one of them,
that in the pit doo fall:
And made as one, among those men,
that haue no strength at all.
As one amonge the dead, and free,
from things that heare remayne:
It weare more easy for me to be,
with them the whiche are slayne.
As those that lye in graue I saye,
whom thou hast cleane forgot,
The whiche thy hand hath cut away:
and thou regardst them not.
from things that heare remayne:
It weare more easy for me to be,
with them the whiche are slayne.
As those that lye in graue I saye,
whom thou hast cleane forgot,
The whiche thy hand hath cut away:
and thou regardst them not.
Yea like to one, shut vp full sure,
within the lower pit:
In places darke, and all obscure,
and in the depth of it.
Thyne anger, and thy wrathe likewise
full sore on me doth lye:
And all thy stormes agaynst me ryse,
my soule to vex and trye.
within the lower pit:
217
and in the depth of it.
Thyne anger, and thy wrathe likewise
full sore on me doth lye:
And all thy stormes agaynst me ryse,
my soule to vex and trye.
Thou puttest my frends, far of frō me,
and makst them hate me sore.
I am shut vp in prison fast,
and can come forth no more.
My sight doth faile through grefe & wo,
I call to thee O God:
Throughout the day, my handes also,
to thee I stretche abrode.
and makst them hate me sore.
I am shut vp in prison fast,
and can come forth no more.
My sight doth faile through grefe & wo,
I call to thee O God:
Throughout the day, my handes also,
to thee I stretche abrode.
Doest thou vnto the dead declare,
thy wondrous workes of fame?
Shall dead to lyfe agayne repayre,
and prayse thee for the same?
Or shall thy louing kindnes Lorde.
be preached in the graue:
Or shall with them that are destroyd,
thy truth her honor haue?
thy wondrous workes of fame?
Shall dead to lyfe agayne repayre,
and prayse thee for the same?
Or shall thy louing kindnes Lorde.
be preached in the graue:
Or shall with them that are destroyd,
thy truth her honor haue?
Shall they that lye, in darke full lowe,
of all thy wonders wotte?
Or there shall they thy iustice knowe,
where all thinges are forgot?
But I (O Lorde) to thee alwaye,
doo crye and call apace:
My prayer eare it be daye,
shall come before thy face.
of all thy wonders wotte?
Or there shall they thy iustice knowe,
where all thinges are forgot?
But I (O Lorde) to thee alwaye,
doo crye and call apace:
My prayer eare it be daye,
shall come before thy face.
218
Why dost thou Lorde) abhorre my soule
in grefe that seeketh thee?
And now O Lorde why dost thou hide,
thy face awaye from me?
I am afflicte as dying still,
from youthe this many a yere:
Thy terrours whiche doo vexe me ill,
with troubled minde I beare.
in grefe that seeketh thee?
And now O Lorde why dost thou hide,
thy face awaye from me?
I am afflicte as dying still,
from youthe this many a yere:
Thy terrours whiche doo vexe me ill,
with troubled minde I beare.
The furies of thy wrathfull rage,
full sore vpon me fall:
Thy terrours eke, doo not asswage,
but me oppres with all.
All day they compas me aboute,
as water at the tide:
And all at once with streames ful stoute
beset me on eche side.
full sore vpon me fall:
Thy terrours eke, doo not asswage,
but me oppres with all.
All day they compas me aboute,
as water at the tide:
And all at once with streames ful stoute
beset me on eche side.
| The Whole Booke of Psalmes, collected into Englysh metre by T. Starnhold I. Hopkins & others: conferred with the Ebrue, with apt Notes to synge the[m] withal | |