XXVIII.
1
To thee, Lord, will I cry, my strength.
To me be thou not still;
Lest, if thow silence keep, I bee
Like those the grave who fill.
2
My supplications' voice, O heare,
With cryes when I draw nigh,
And at thy holie oracle,
My hands lift vp on high.
Ezek. 32. 20. Job 21. 33.
3
Me from the Godles, wickednes
Who work, in death devide,
Whose harts, (whill to yr neighbours peace
They speek), doe mischeif hide.
4
O give them what is to ther deeds,
Their bade endeavours due;
As with polluted hands they did
Leud practises persew.
Giue them, O giue them their desart.
The works of God they slight,
And how his hands of kings dispose,
Considdir not aright.
5
Them shall he therfore overturne,
And not the breach repaire.
6
Blest be the Lord, for hee the voice
Of my requests doth heare.
8
His prayse my song shal be. 8. A strength
In straits wnto all his,
The Lord to his anoynted one,
A strength for saiftie is.
9
Thy people and inheritance,
Let sav'd and blessed be;
Be they sustained and lifted vp,
For ever, Lord, by thee.