The whole Psalter translated into English Metre which contayneth an hundreth and fifty Psalmes |
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Psalme. XLII.
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 | The whole Psalter translated into English Metre |  |
Psalme. XLII.
The Argument.
As Christ (the Lord) for hym and hys,In trust did pray: in (paynfull) stresse:
So man euen like: as did his head,
May iust the same: (in worde) expresse.
1
Euen lyke (in chase) the hunted Hynde,the water brookes: (doth glad) desire:
Euen thus my soule: that faintie is,
to thee (my God) would fayne aspire.
2
My (wery) soule: dyd thyrst to God,To God (the fount) of lyfe and grace:
It sayd euen thus: when shall I come,
To see (at eye) Gods liuely face.
3
My teares in stede: of (foode and) meate,Both day and nyght (to me) they were:
Whyle that all day: rebukers sayd,
Where is thy God: (fro thee) so far.
4
When this (O Lord) came soone to hart,I yet (therin) recomfort felt:
And trust to lead: the people forth,
to go (full glad) where thou hast dwelt.
5
To ioy in (hart: and) voyce of myrth,Wyth laudes & thankes (most due) alway:
Among thy folke: when that they kepe,
So hye (in sight) theyr holy day.
122
9
Why castes thy selfe: than (flatly) downe,My (fainty) soule: I sayd no lesse:
Why layest in me: so painfully,
In (greuous) wo: and carefulnes?
Put thou thy trust: (and hope) in God,
Let (earthly) thyng: not thee amase:
I wyll hym thanke: for all his helpe,
In sight (most sure) of hys good grace.
Let (earthly) thyng: not thee amase:
I wyll hym thanke: for all his helpe,
In sight (most sure) of hys good grace.
6
My God my soule: is (dayly) vext,Wyth inward paynes (& pangs) so thrill:
I mynde thy workes: in Iordan yet,
so done (by thee) next Hermon hill.
7
As deepe (profound) to deepe reboundth,at (dreadfull) noyce: of thy great showers
Thy streames by course: so ouerflowes,
My soule (alasse) the payne deuoures.
8
But God yet will: (commaund) the day,To shyne (most clere) me grace to see:
My night of wo: shall prayse hym than,
Who kept yet lyfe: (to byde) in mee.
9
Thou art my strength: (alone) O GodI myght therby) than playne in wo:
Why hast me thus: forgot so quyte,
So sad to go: for (mortall) fo.
10
It pierceth my bones (as sharpe) as swordTo heare my foes: in (cruell) spyte:
They daily thus: at me vpbreyde,
Where is (become) thy God of myght?
123
11
Why art thou then: (I say) my soule?So vext (wyth griefe) and prostrate so?
Why makest in me: so much a do,
Where God is frende: in (all thy) wo.
12
O put thy hope (I byd) in God,I trust (therto) in tyme and place:
He is my God: whom I wyll thanke,
My face shall see: hys (helpyng) grace.
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