A paraphrase vpon the divine poems :: :: University of Virginia Library

Which God himselfe hath fortifi'd;
High Bulwarks rais'd on every side,
And with immortall Walls immur'd:
Her Gates at their approach display,
Who Justice love, and Truth obey.

Who fix on him their confidence,
He will in constant Peace preserve.
O then with Faith Jehovah serve;
Your strong and ever sure Defence:
VVho hurles the Mighty from their Thrones,
And Cities turnes to Heaps of stones.

Their Structures levels with the Floore,
VVhich Sepulchres of Dust inclose:
Trod underneath the Feet of those,
That were of late Despis'd and Poore.
Straight is the VVay the Righteous tread;
By Thee at once inform'd and led.

For we thy Judgements, Lord, expect,
And onely on thy Grace relye:
To thy great Name and Memory
Th'Affections of our Soules erect.
My Soule pursues thee in the Night,
And when the Morne displayes her Light.

Part. 2.

Didst thou thy Judgements exercise,
Then Mortals should the Truth discerne:
And yet the Wicked would not learne;
But thy extended Grace despise:
Among the Just to Injustice fold;
Nor will thy Majesty behold.

Shouldst thou advance thine Arme on High,
Though wilfull-blind, yet should they view
The Shame and Vengeance which pursue
All those, who thy deare Saints envy:
Those vindicating Flames, which burne
Thy Foes, shall them to Cinders turne.

Thou our eternall peace hast wrought,
And in our works, thy Wonders showne.
Though other Lords, besides our owne,
Had us to their subjection brought;
Yet, through thy onely Goodnesse, we
Remembred both thy Name and Thee.

Dead are they, never more to rise
From those darke Caves of endlesse Night;
Nor ever shall the cheerefull Light
Revisit with their closed eyes.
Thy Vengeance hath expel'd their Breath,
And clos'd their Memories in Death.

Part. 3.

Thou, Thou hast given us wounds on wounds;
In punishing thy Glory showne:
Far from thy chearfull Presence throwne;
Even to the Worlds extreamest bounds:
Amidst our stripes, and sighings, we
Addrest our zealous Prayers to Thee.

As Women groaning with their Load,
The time of their Delivery neere,
Anticipating paine with feare,
Screeke in their Pangs; So we to God:
So suffer'd, when in thy Disgrace;
So cry'd out, when thou hid'st thy Face.

For we, with Sorrow's burthen fraught,
Paine, and anxiety of Mind,
Brought onely forth an empty Wind;
Nor our desir'd Delivery wrought.

We neither could repulse our Foes,
Nor give a period to our Woes.

The Lord thus to his People spake;
Thy Dead shall live; those who remaine
In peacefull Graves, shall rise againe.
O you who sleepe in Dust, awake;
Now sing: on you my Plants I'le shed
My Deaw; the Graves shall cast their Dead.

Goe, hide thee in thy inward Roomes
A little, till my Wrath passe by:
To punish Mans impiety,
The Lord from Heaven in Thunder comes:
The Earth then shall your Bloud reveale,
Nor longer shall the Slaine conceale.