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

To Thee (O Lord) who me do'st save,
Both day and night I cryed have.
Lend to my voice a gratious eare;
Whose troubled foul to death draws neare.
Cast down to earth, I 'mongst the dead
Am only free, and numbered.
Like those who in the grave forgot,
By thee cut off, corrupt and rot.

Thou in the lowest pit ha'st layd,
And darkest deeps my cov'ring made:
I am hard pressed by Thy wrath,
And every wave afflicted hath:
Thou mine acquaintance hast remov'd,
And sever'd me from those I lov'd:
Their friendship turned is to hate;
My life shut up, and desolate.

My weeping eye doth daily mourne,
My hands stretch'd out, my hopes forlorne.
Wilt thou shew wonders to the dead,
To praise Thee rais'd, and wakened?

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Shall the devouring grave declare,
How true thy promis'd mercies are?
Or shall the dark Thy wonders see,
The land where all forgotten be?

To Thee (O Lord) my cryes are sent:
My prayer shall the morne prevent:
O why do'st Thou my soul reject,
And hid'st from me Thy blest aspect?
Afflicted, and in misery,
I almost ready am to dy;
From youth to age, in lifes each act,
Thy suffer'd terrours me distract?

Thy wrath quite over me doth go,
Thine indignation strikes me so:
They, like the raging floods abound,
Or swelling waters, me surround.
My friends, and all my lovers are
By Thee, from my reliefe put far.
And those who my acquaintance we
Conceal'd, or lost, my sight forbear.

University of Virginia Library

Psal. LXXXVIII.