The whole Psalter translated into English Metre :: :: University of Virginia Library

VVhose hart wyth hate the world resolueth,
To state all base deiect:
If he in fayth this psalme reuolueth,
God sone wyll him erect.

408

Now heare my sute: O Lord in stresse:
to my request agree:
For all thy truthes: and rightwisenes:
sone aunswere thou to me.

(But enter not: to iudge extreme:
thy seruant hye by lawe:
For who himselfe: can cleane esteme:
yet him I neuer saw.)

For loe the foole: my soule hath chasd:
to earth my life hath wrest:
My state in darke: he hath abasde:
as men of old deceast:

My pinched sprite: in me doth fayle:
opprest in heuines:
My hart sore vext: doth morne and wayle:
astoynd in pensiuenes.

Old yeares from fyrst: I haue recount:
our fathers how thou ledst:
Thine actes I marke: how hye they mount:
I muse the woorkes thou didst.

My hands to thee: I held full hye:
that thou wouldst me vouchsaue:
My thristy soule: as pasture drye:
thy graces dewe doth craue.

Then heare me Lord: but sone heare thou:
my sprite doth feble ligh:
Hyde not thy face: from me as now:
least strayt my graue I spy.

409

Thy voyce at morne: cause me to heare,
for thee I trust alone:
Shew me thy wayes: my steps to steare,
my soule to thee is gone.

O rid me Lord: from all theyr spite,
that would me causeles trayne:
For I to thee: referre my right,
in hid defence full fayne.

Teach me to worke: thy will to please,
thou art my God I say:
And let thy sprite: so neuer cease,
to leade me straite the way.

For thy sweete name: Lord quicken me,
from them that me pursue:
And make my soule: from perill free,
my hart with ioy endue.

Thy grace I trust: my foes will quell,
and make their strength but lame:
Who vexth my soule: thou wilt debell,
for I thy seruant am.

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