 | Sacred Hymns, Consisting of Fifti Select Psalms of David and others, Paraphrastically turned into English Verse. And by Robert Tailovr, set to be sung in Five parts, as also to the Viole, and Lute or Orph-arion. Published for the vse of such as delight in the exercise of Mvsic in hir original honour |  |
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Psalm 118.
[Sing, ô, sound out Gods woorthi praise]
Sing, ô, sound out Gods woorthi praise,
Who goodnes pure, stil grace displays.
Let Israĕls race agnize the same:
And thankful now renoum his name.
Great Aărons house, thou blest to bless,
Same goodnes, same sweet grace confess.
Yea, all who fear our glorious King,
His rich, his endles merci sing.
IN streit distress the Lord I sought;
Who gracious, fair enlargement brought.
That sith my God dooth mee assist;
Sith aiders myn his aid hath blist:
Nor fear I man, doo man his woorst;
Nor faun on fo, with rancour burst.
Much better ô in God to trust,
Then ground on man, whose ground is dust:
On God yea better to rely,
Then Princes; lo, evĕn Princes dy.
MEE nations all encloz'd, as toil;
But Gods great help all put to foil:
As circle, they did mee surround;
But Gods great help bare all to ground.
Yea evĕn as cloud of Bees they swarmd,
With ireful stings against me armd:
As cracling fire of thorns soon spent,
By Gods great help to smoke they went.
THOU sore at mee, my fo, hast thrust;
My wrongful fo: but God, God iust,
With succŏring hand me staid from fall;
Thy plots, thyn hopes defeated all.
He, hee my strength, my verse of praise;
Sole health, sole ioy for ending days.
Who goodnes pure, stil grace displays.
Let Israĕls race agnize the same:
And thankful now renoum his name.
Great Aărons house, thou blest to bless,
Same goodnes, same sweet grace confess.
Yea, all who fear our glorious King,
His rich, his endles merci sing.
IN streit distress the Lord I sought;
Who gracious, fair enlargement brought.
That sith my God dooth mee assist;
Sith aiders myn his aid hath blist:
Nor fear I man, doo man his woorst;
Nor faun on fo, with rancour burst.
Much better ô in God to trust,
Then ground on man, whose ground is dust:
On God yea better to rely,
Then Princes; lo, evĕn Princes dy.
MEE nations all encloz'd, as toil;
But Gods great help all put to foil:
As circle, they did mee surround;
But Gods great help bare all to ground.
Yea evĕn as cloud of Bees they swarmd,
With ireful stings against me armd:
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By Gods great help to smoke they went.
THOU sore at mee, my fo, hast thrust;
My wrongful fo: but God, God iust,
With succŏring hand me staid from fall;
Thy plots, thyn hopes defeated all.
He, hee my strength, my verse of praise;
Sole health, sole ioy for ending days.
HARK: voice of ioy, triumphing sound,
Fils rightĕous tents, with safeti cround:
Sing, God, our God, this fight hath wrought;
Whose right-hand valiant acts hath sought:
Advanced stands that powrful hand;
And powĕrs terrene makes all disband.
IT'S true, God mee did sore correct:
Yet still from death my soule protect.
Then live I shall; (where's death thy sting?)
O God, thy woorks, thy praise to sing.
Fils rightĕous tents, with safeti cround:
Sing, God, our God, this fight hath wrought;
Whose right-hand valiant acts hath sought:
Advanced stands that powrful hand;
And powĕrs terrene makes all disband.
IT'S true, God mee did sore correct:
Yet still from death my soule protect.
Then live I shall; (where's death thy sting?)
O God, thy woorks, thy praise to sing.
NOW towărd th' Eternals glorious place,
With revĕrence bend we ioyful pace.
Ye sacred Priests, to heavĕns great King,
Who vows, who praiĕrs, sweet praises sing;
Uncloze your gates: give praise access,
At gates which praises all possess.
Hence crue profane: Gods gates are pure;
Sole rightĕous mynds, clean thoughts endure.
“O KING of Kings; who ear didst bend
“To iust requests; and safeti send:
“Lo prostrate here thy servant true,
“Yields thanks, brings praise, great Lord thy due.
“What stone th' Archbuilders did reiect;
“Their folŏers scorn; the world neglect;
“Same stone now angles fronted head,
“Thy peoples strength and rest hath bred.
“O GRACIOUS Lord, thyn act it is;
“Great act of merci, act of bliss:
“Our ravisht thoughts, our wondring eys,
“Thy woork makes mortal woorks despize.
“This day thy grace hath made us see:
“Which ay to ioy shal sacred bee.
“Then still, great King, thy goodnes raign:
“Stil safeti, still this ioy maintain.
With revĕrence bend we ioyful pace.
Ye sacred Priests, to heavĕns great King,
Who vows, who praiĕrs, sweet praises sing;
Uncloze your gates: give praise access,
At gates which praises all possess.
Hence crue profane: Gods gates are pure;
Sole rightĕous mynds, clean thoughts endure.
“O KING of Kings; who ear didst bend
“To iust requests; and safeti send:
“Lo prostrate here thy servant true,
“Yields thanks, brings praise, great Lord thy due.
“What stone th' Archbuilders did reiect;
“Their folŏers scorn; the world neglect;
“Same stone now angles fronted head,
“Thy peoples strength and rest hath bred.
“O GRACIOUS Lord, thyn act it is;
“Great act of merci, act of bliss:
“Our ravisht thoughts, our wondring eys,
“Thy woork makes mortal woorks despize.
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“Which ay to ioy shal sacred bee.
“Then still, great King, thy goodnes raign:
“Stil safeti, still this ioy maintain.
O BLESSED thow, whom God hath sent;
And here dooth King in grace prezent.
We Priests of God, Gods merci seat
Who ay atend, ay God entreat
Appeaz'd his people deer to bless;
Wee bless you: Long Gods bliss possess.
And here dooth King in grace prezent.
We Priests of God, Gods merci seat
Who ay atend, ay God entreat
Appeaz'd his people deer to bless;
Wee bless you: Long Gods bliss possess.
HEE th' onli God, this light hath raiz'd,
This ioying light: He sole be praiz'd.
To altars horns beasts festive bynd:
Let sacred bloud seal faithful mynd.
THOU art my God; I'le bless thy name:
Our Lord; to heavĕns wee'le raize thy fame.
Sing then, sound out Gods glorious praise:
Who goodnes pure, stil grace displays.
This ioying light: He sole be praiz'd.
To altars horns beasts festive bynd:
Let sacred bloud seal faithful mynd.
THOU art my God; I'le bless thy name:
Our Lord; to heavĕns wee'le raize thy fame.
Sing then, sound out Gods glorious praise:
Who goodnes pure, stil grace displays.
| Sacred Hymns, Consisting of Fifti Select Psalms of David and others, Paraphrastically turned into English Verse. And by Robert Tailovr, set to be sung in Five parts, as also to the Viole, and Lute or Orph-arion. Published for the vse of such as delight in the exercise of Mvsic in hir original honour | |