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The Psalmes of David, from the New Translation of the Bible Turned into Meter

To be Sung after the Old Tunes used in the Churches [by Henry King]

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 I. 
 II. 
 III. 
 IV. 
 V. 
 VI. 
 VII. 
 VIII. 
 IX. 
 X. 
 XI. 
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 XIII. 
 XIV. 
 XV. 
 XVI. 
 XVII. 
 XVIII. 
 XIX. 
 XX. 
 XXI. 
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 XXIII. 
 XXIV. 
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 XXIX. 
 XXX. 
 XXXI. 
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 XXXIII. 
 XXXIV. 
 XXXV. 
 XXXVI. 
 XXXVII. 
 XXXVIII. 
 XXXIX. 
 XL. 
 XLI. 
 XLII. 
 XLIII. 
 XLIV. 
 XLV. 
 XLVI. 
 XLVII. 
 XLVIII. 
 XLIX. 
 L. 
 LI. 
Psal. LI.
 LII. 
 LIII. 
 LIV. 
 LV. 
 LVI. 
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 LIX. 
 LX. 
 LXI. 
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 LXIX. 
 LXX. 
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 LXXX. 
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 LXXXII. 
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 LXXXIV. 
 LXXXV. 
 LXXXVI. 
 LXXXVII. 
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 LXXXIX. 
 XC. 
 XCI. 
 XCII. 
 XCIII. 
 XCIV. 
 XCV. 
 XCVI. 
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 XCVIII. 
 XCIX. 
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 CIV. 
 CV. 
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 CXXXIX. 
 CXL. 
 CXLI. 
 CXLII. 
 CXLIII. 
 CXLIV. 
 CXLV. 
 CXLVI. 
 CXLVII. 
 CXLVIII. 
 CXLIX. 
 CL. 

Psal. LI.

[_]

To the proper Tune.

Have mercy, O my God! on me
Who thus dejected fly to Thee:
According to Thy boundlesse love
The weight of mine offence remove.
From Thine un-wasted pitties spring
Thy wonted streames of pardon bring.
O wash my leprous soule againe,
And cleanse me from this bloody staine.
In sad repentance I confesse
The knowledge of this wickednesse:

92

Against Thee have I sinn'd alone,
Who art my Judge, for what is done.
I cannot hide the blood I spilt,
Nor will excuse my secret guilt.
That at Thy bar when I am try'd,
Thy sentence might be justify'd.
Brought forth I was to Parents scorne,
In sin conceiv'd, with sorrow Borne;
And have emprov'd, by act and thought,
Those spots which to the world I brought
But Thou dost inward truth require,
And only can'st that grace inspire:
Thou therefore shalt, who wisdome art
With understanding fill my heart.
Purge me with Hyssop, then my soule
Shall cleansed be, though nev'r so foule.
Wash me, and my black crimes will grow
More white, then is the falling snow.
Make me to hear Thy mercies voice,
So shall my broken bones rejoyce.
Turne from my sinnes Thy face away,
Nor let them in remembrance stay.
Create (O God!) a cleansed heart,
Renew my soule, chast thoughts impart,
Me from Thy presence never drive,
Nor of thy guiding grace deprive.

93

Restore Thy comfort yet at last,
And let Thy spirit keep me fast:
Then wicked men thy wayes Ile teach,
And sinners shall conversion reach.
Deliver me from guilt of blood,
O God Thou Authour of my good.
Open my lips, enlarge my tongue;
And then thy prayses shall be sung.
Thou do'st not sacrifice desire,
Or any offring made by fire.
The sacrifices God delight,
Are broken hearts, and soules contrite.
O cast thy favourable eye
On Sions low calamity:
Build up neglected Salems wall,
Whose Structures now to ruin fall.
Then shalt Thou be, when once appeas'd,
With our devout oblations pleas'd:
Who heapes of Incense up will fling,
And bullocks to Thine Altar bring.