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A translation of the psalms of David

attempted in the Spirit of Christianity, and adapted to the divine service. By Christopher Smart

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 I. 
 II. 
 III. 
 IV. 
 V. 
 VI. 
 VII. 
 VIII. 
 IX. 
 X. 
 XI. 
 XII. 
 XIII. 
 XIV. 
 XV. 
 XVI. 
 XVII. 
 XVIII. 
 XIX. 
 XX. 
 XXI. 
 XXII. 
 XXIII. 
  
 XXIV. 
 XXV. 
 XXVI. 
 XXVII. 
 XXVIII. 
 XXIX. 
 XXX. 
 XXXI. 
 XXXII. 
 XXXIII. 
 XXXIV. 
 XXXV. 
 XXXVI. 
 XXXVII. 
 XXXVIII. 
 XXXIX. 
 XL. 
 XLI. 
 XLII. 
 XLIII. 
 XLIV. 
 XLV. 
 XLVI. 
 XLVII. 
 XLVIII. 
 XLIX. 
 L. 
 LI. 
 LII. 
 LIII. 
 LIV. 
 LV. 
 LVI. 
 LVII. 
 LVIII. 
 LIX. 
 LX. 
 LXI. 
 LXII. 
 LXIII. 
 LXIV. 
PSALM LXIV.
 LXV. 
 LXVI. 
 LXVII. 
 LXVIII. 
 LXIX. 
 LXX. 
 LXXI. 
 LXXII. 
 LXXIII. 
 LXXIV. 
 LXXV. 
 LXXVI. 
 LXXVII. 
 LXXVIII. 
 LXXIX. 
 LXXX. 
 LXXXI. 
 LXXXII. 
 LXXXIII. 
 LXXXIV. 
  
 LXXXV. 
 LXXXVI. 
 LXXXVII. 
 LXXXVIII. 
 LXXXIX. 
 XC. 
 XCI. 
 XCII. 
 XCIII. 
 XCIV. 
 XCV. 
 XCVI. 
 XCVII. 
 XCVIII. 
  
 XCIX. 
 C. 
  
 CI. 
 CII. 
 CIII. 
  
 CIV. 
 CV. 
 CVI. 
 CVII. 
 CVIII. 
 CIX. 
 CX. 
 CXI. 
 CXII. 
 CXIII. 
 CXIV. 
 CXV. 
 CXVI. 
 CXVII. 
  
 CXVIII. 
 CXIX. 
 CXX. 
 CXXI. 
 CXXII. 
 CXXIII. 
 CXXIV. 
 CXXV. 
 CXXVI. 
 CXXVII. 
 CXXVIII. 
 CXXIX. 
 CXXX. 
 CXXXI. 
 CXXXII. 
 CXXXIII. 
 CXXXIV. 
 CXXXV. 
 CXXXVI. 
 CXXXVII. 
 CXXXVIII. 
 CXXXIX. 
 CXL. 
 CXLI. 
 CXLII. 
 CXLIII. 
 CXLIV. 
 CXLV. 
 CXLVI. 
 CXLVII. 
 CXLVIII. 
  
 CXLIX. 
  
 CL. 
  
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PSALM LXIV.

Hear, O my God, my voice accept
My wailings, and the tears I wept
In agony of pray'r,
Preserve my soul from those that deal
In death, who have not sense to feel,
Nor pity to forbear.
Prevent me from the secret mines,
And rescue from the dark designs
Of guilt combin'd with rage;
From those who rising in a band
To do the work that Satan plann'd,
By mutual ties engage.
Their tongues exasperate with spite,
Like falchions whetted for the fight,
Are eager to defame;
They bend their bows, and strain their strings,
And give their poison'd arrows wings,
E'en bitter words of shame.
That they may from an ambush shoot
At those that yield abundant fruit,
The godly and the just;
And swift the desp'rate archers dart
The pointed mischief to the heart
Of men without mistrust.
To wickedness they plight their troth,
And work each other up to wrath,
And in their crimes agree;
They privily by stealth convene,
And sneak to lay their snares unseen,
Blaspheming “who shall see!”
In malice mischief they conceive,
And then to murder and to thieve,
Their several bands they file;
Each on his fellow's guilt relies,
And all their practices disguise
In subtlety and guile.
But God, their treason to detect,
Against the traitors shall direct
His arrows swift as thought;
And terror shall their conscience wound,
And all the schemes that they propound
Be to confusion brought.
Yea, they their dealings shall impeach
With their own tongues, and make a breach
Upon the webs they spun;
And they that their event behold,
And those that hear their story told,
Their deeds shall scorn and shun.
And they that their event behold,
And those that hear their story told
Shall praise the Lord alone;—
“It is the Lord's resistless pow'r,
“That sav'd us in the dreadful hour,
“The people and the throne.”
Inspir'd with mercies so profuse,
The wise and good shall give a loose
To transport and delight;
And every man, whose heart is whole
From treason, shall with all his soul
This song of joy recite.