The psalms :: :: University of Virginia Library

O celebrate Jehovas praise,
For gratious he and good is found;
And noe precinct, noe space of daies,
Can his greate grace and goodness bound.
Say you with me, with me resound
Jehovas praise with thankfulness:
Whose bands of perill he unbound,
When tyrants hate did you oppresse.

How many, and how many tymes,
From early East, from evening West,
From thirsty wasts, from frosty clymes,
Hath he dispersed, brought to rest!
How many sav'd, who deepe distrest,
And straying farre from path and towne,
With want and drouth soe sore were prest,
That drouth well neer their lives did drowne!

They cry'd to him in woefull plight;
His succour sent did end their woe.
From error, train'd, he led them right,
And made to peopled places goe.
Such then in song his mercies show,
His wonders done to men display:
Who, in the hungry, hunger soe,
Soe doth in thirsty, thirst alay.

How many fast imprisoned lye
In shade of death, and horrors blind,
Whose feete as Iron fetters tye,
Soe heavy anguish cloggs their mind!
Whom though the Lord did Rebells finde,
Despising all he did advise,
Yet when their hart with grief declin'd
Now helplesse quite and hoplesse lies.

228

They cry to him in wofull plight;
His succour sent doth end their woe.
From death to life, from darke to light
With broken boltes he makes them goe.
Such then in song his mercy show,
His wonders done to men display;
The gates of brasse who breaketh so,
So make the iron yeld them way.

How many wantonly missled,
While, fooles, they follow Follies traine,
For sinne confined to their bed,
This guerdon of their folly gaine!
Their lothing soule doth foode refraine,
And hardly, hardly failing breath
Can now his ending gasp restraine
From entring at the gate of death.

They cry to him in wofull plight:
His succour sent doth end their woe,
His word puts all their paine to flight,
And free from sicknesse makes them goe.
Such then in song his mercy show
His wonders done to men display,
Tell gladly of his workes they know
And sacrifice of praises pay.

How many mounting winged tree
For traffique, leave retiring land,
And on huge waters busied be,
Which bancklesse flow on endlesse sand!
These, these indeed, well understand,
Enform'd by their feare-open ey,
The wonders of Jehovas hand
While on the waves they rocking ly.

He bids, and straight on moisty maine
The blustring tempest falling flies:
The starrs doe dropp bedasht with raine,
Soe huge the waves in combat rise.
Now shipp with men do touch the skies:
Now downe, more downe then Center falls;
Their might doth melt, their courage dies
Such hideous sights, each sense apalls.

229

For now the whirlwinde makes them wheele:
Now stop'd in midst of broken round
As drunckard use, they staggring reele,
Whose head-lame feete can feele no ground.
What helpes to have a Pilot sound,
Where wisdome wont to guide the sterne
Now in dispairfull danger droun'd,
With wisdoms eye can nought discerne?

They cry to him in wofull plight;
His succour sent doth end their woe.
Of Seas and winds he partes the fight:
To wisshed port with joy they row.
Such then in song his mercies show;
His wonders done to men display:
Make peoples presse his honor know,
At princes thrones his praise bewray.

How many whers doth he convert
Well watred grounds to thirsty sand!
And saltes the soile for wicked hart
The dwellers beare that till the land!
How oft againe his gratious hand,
To watry pooles doth desertes change!
And on the fields that fruitlesse stand,
Makes trickling springs unhoped rang!

Suppose of men that live in want
A Colony he there do make,
They dwell, and build, and sow, and plant,
And of their paines greate profitt take.
His blessing doth not them forsake,
But multiplies their childrens store:
Nay, ev'n their Cattaill, for their sake,
Augmentes in number more and more.

They stand while he their state sustaines:
Then comes againe that harmefulle day
Which brings the enterchange of paines,
And their encrease turnes to decay.
Nor strange; for he, exiled stray,
Makes greatest kings scorn'd where they goe:
The same from want the poore doth waigh,
And makes like heards their houses grow.

230

See this, and joy this thus to see,
All you whose judgements judge aright:
You whose conceites distorted be,
Stand mute amazed at the sight.
How wise were he, whose wisdome might
Observe each course the Lord doth hold,
To light in men his bounties light,
Whose providence doth all enfold!