Psalm XXXVIII.
1
O Lord, correct me not in wrath,
Let fury burn no more:
For fast in me thine arrows stick,
Thy hand doth press me sore.
2
Thine anger makes my flesh to quake,
No soundness is therein:
Nor in my bones is any rest,
By reason of my sin.
3
My sins have overwhelmed me,
And prest me to the ground:
My flesh is fill'd with noisome sores,
And many a bruise and wound.
4
With sorrow I am bowed down;
All day I weep and mourn:
My loins are full of loathsome boils,
Most grievous to be born.
5
I feeble am, and broken sore,
While for my sins I smart:
I cannot but cry out and roar,
For anguish of my heart.
6
But, Lord, my grief is known to thee;
Thou hearest every groan:
My heart doth pant, my strength doth fail
My very sight is gone.
7
My friends and lovers stand aloof,
My kinsmen keep away:
And they that seek my life lay snares,
And mischiefs all the day.
8
And all this while I patient was,
And not a word did make:
As if I had been deaf and dumb,
I did no notice take.
9
Because I hope in thee, O Lord,
To hear me when I call;
And not permit mine enemies,
To triumph at my fall.
10
For, Lord; I ready am to sink;
My ruin near I see,
I will therefore confess my faults,
And tell my sins to thee.
11
My enemies lively are and strong,
And numerous too are grown:
And hate me most implacably,
For goodness sake alone.
12
Then leave me not, O Lord my God,
In such a time of need:
Thou art my Lord and Saviour,
O succour me with speed.
