The whole Psalter translated into English Metre which contayneth an hundreth and fifty Psalmes |
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Psalme. CXLVI.
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 | The whole Psalter translated into English Metre |  |
415
Psalme. CXLVI.
The Argument.
To trust to man: this Psalme forfendth,Whose arme is flesh: and worde but wynde,
Where God full ayde: to man extendth,
By whome twise lyfe: he iust dyd fynde,
Which Dauid knew: the text dewrayes,
Wherfore his soule: sang still his prayse.
Alleluya.
1
O thou my soule: prayse thou the Lord,The Lord of loue: and God of light
Extend thy powers: with one accorde,
Recount his name: in inward spryte,
Expresse thy voyce: without delayes,
O thou my soule: singe still his prayse.
2
My hart is set: to lawde this Lord:Thys Lord so good is God of grace:
His laudes my life: shall whole recorde,
Yea sure as long: I bide in place.
My God to thanke: I wil alwayes,
O thou my soule: sing still his prayse.
3
O put no trust: in princes power,The God of might: is Lord to trust:
Yea trust no man: his frute is sower,
No helpe in hym: no credence iust,
Gods loue is sure: at all assayes,
O thou my soule: singe still his prayse.
416
4
Mans breath ones past, he turneth to dust,This Lord so strong: he euer lastth:
All earthly power: decay it must,
Mans counsayles all: deathes day doth waste,
Gods helpe is ferme: without decayes
O thou my soule: sing stil his praise.
5
Blest is the man: whose helpe is God,The God of hosts: to Iacobs seede:
Full fast with them: he styl abode,
Who God will trust: aswell shall speede,
In hym beset: al stable strayes
O thou my soule: Sing still his prayse.
6
This God made heauen: and earth betwene,The Lord so grand: so infinite:
He made the seas: with all therein,
His truth in word: he kepeth full right
His deede from tong: makes neuer strayes
O thou my soule: sing styll his prayse.
7
The Lord reuength: oppressed man,Thys God of right: as is deserued,
All wrongs and spites, requite he can,
He dealth out bread: to hunger sterued:
Thrall men in bonds: he vseth to rayse
O thou my soule: singe still his prayse.
8
The Lord giueth sight to blynded eyes,This God so bright to see agayne:
He lifteth the lame: from ground to rise,
The iust doth hee: in loue retayne:
To fill his lyfe: with ioyefull dayes,
O thou my soule, singe still his prayse.
417
9
In care the Lord: all straungers kepth,Of them sure God: he is at neede:
And Orphans loueth: and widowes seeketh,
Nye hart he takth: theyr cryes of dreade:
Euill minded men: to dust he brayes,
Syng still my soule: syng out hys prayse.
10
Prayse God as king: who raygneth for aye:As God of thyne: O Sion hye:
Resort to him: Go not astray,
Knyt fast thyne hart: shrinke not awrye.
Expell he will: all feares and frayes.
Rouse hym my soule: Sing stil his prayse.
| The whole Psalter translated into English Metre | |