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Psalm XIX. Cœli enarrant.
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 I. 

Psalm XIX. Cœli enarrant.

The heav'nly frame, setts foorth the fame
Of him that only thunders:
The firmament so strangly bent
Showes his hand-working wonders.
Day unto day, it doth display,
Their course doth it acknowledg:
And night to night succeeding right
In darknes teach cleare knowledg.
There is no speach, nor language, which
Is soe of skill bereaved:
But of the skies the teaching cries
They have heard and conceaved.

208

There be no eyne, but read the line
From soe faire booke proceeding:
Their wordes be sett in letters greate
For ev'ry bodies reading.
Is not he blind that doth not find
The tabernacle builded
There by his grace, for sunnes faire face
In beames of beuty guilded!
Who foorth doth come, like a bridgroome
From out his vailing places:
As gladd is hee, as Giantes be
To runne their mighty races.
His race is ev'n, from endes of heav'n
About that vault he goeth:
There be no Reames hid from his beames
His heate to all he throweth.
O law of his, how perfect tis
The very soule amending
Gods wittnes sure, for ay doth dure
To simplest, wisdome lending.
Gods doomes be right, and cheere the sprite:
All his commandments being
So purely wise, as give the eies
Both light, and force of seeing.
Of him the feare, doth cleannes beare
And soe endures for ever:
His Judgments be self verity
They are unrighteous never.
Then what man would, so soone seeke gold
Or glittring golden money?
By them is past, in sweetest tast
Honny, or combe of honny.
By them is made, thy servantes trade
Most circumspetly guarded:
And who doth frame, to keepe the same
Shall fully be rewarded.

209

Who is the man, that ever can
His faultes know and acknowledg!
O Lord clense me, from faultes that be
Most secret from all knowledg.
Thy servant keepe, lest in him creepe
Presumptuous sinnes offences:
Let them not have, me for their slave,
Nor raigne upon my sences.
Soe shall my sprite be still upright
In thought and conversation;
Soe shall I bide, well purifide
From much abhomination.
Soe lett wordes sproong, from my weake tongue
And my hartes meditation,
My saving might, Lord, in thy sight
Receave good acceptation.