XXI.
1
Lord, in thy strength the King sall joy;
How sall his gladnes grow
2
In thy salvation? To his minde
Thow makst his maters goe.
His lips' requeist withholdst thow not.
3
With blessings manifold
Of goodnes him provydst. Thow crounst
His heid with purest gold.
4
Lyff askt hee, lyffe to him thow gavst,
For ever length of dayes.
5
In thy salvation glorie great
He hath. Him thow arayes
With honour and high majestie.
6
For euer more most blest
Thou hast him made; thy face his joy
Hath to the full encreast.
7
For in the Lord the king doth trust,
And sall im̄oveably,
Establisht through the mercies, stand,
Of him who is most high.
8
Thyne hand thy foes sall all fynd out,
Thy right hand, who the hate.
9
A flameing fornace shalt thow mak
Them, in thy furie great.
Consume them shall the Lord in wrath,
Devoure them shall the fire.
10
Their fruit from earth, their seed thow shalt
From mankind make expire.
11
For they against thee evill have
Intended; did devise
Mischeevous plotts, which in ther pow're
Not to accomplish lyes.
12
Them shalt thow therfor make thy mark,
Thine arrowes on the strings
When as thow fitts, and suddenly
Them 'gainst their faces bringes.
13
In thine oune strength, O mayst thow still
Exalted be, O Lord.
So sall wee sing, and to thy pow're
Shall to give prayse accord.
