The .xviij. Psalme.
Out
of myne in moste bowelles Lord and from my verie herte:
I wyl loue the, for my whole powre and only strength thou art.
The Lorde is my castell of stone, and eke my fyghtynge toure:
My rescuar and eke my God, and my rocke of succour.
To hym I wyll cleaue and styke faste, he is my shylde in dede:
And also the horue of my health, & sure castel at nede.
The Lorde that is worthy of prayse, I wyl aye calle vpon:
And I shall be preserued from, myne enimies ech one.
The bandes & great sorowes of death had compaste me about:
And the swifte streames of wycked men, had fearde me wyth theyr route.
The cordes and sorowes of the deade, had gyrded me certen:
So had the snares of death it selfe, me sone ouertaken.
Whylse I therfore stode this in doubt and knewe no remedye:
Wyth herte I dyd call on the Lorde, and to God dyd I crye.
And out of his holy temple, he hearde my voyce streyght waye:
Euen as sone as my crye was entred his eares I saye.
He was moued and then the earth dyd shake excedyngly:
The bottomes of hylles were shaken, because he was angry.
At hys nosthyrles there yshued smoke, and at hys mouth fyre hotte:
In such maner that at the same, coles were kenled I wotte.
He bowed the heauens and so came downe by hys wonderfull myght:
And vnder hys feete was dearcknes, & the daseynge of syght.
On Cherub he was caried, & flewe forth as I fynde:
Beynge borne vp and sustayned, by the wynges of the wynde.
Lyke a tent, for hys closet he set dearcknes on eche syde:
Nygh vnto hym, and blacke waters, wyth cloudes boeth thycke and wyde.
Through the excedyng greate bryghtnes, that in hys presence was:
Great hayle and burnynge coles also, dyd thorowe hys clowdes passe.
The Lorde dyd thunder from heauē, and the moste hygh dyd speake:
Great hayle and also burnynge coles, out of hys cloudes dyd breake.
He shot forth shaftes & scattered, hys foes and dyd them wounde:
And moch lyghtnynge wherwith he dyd cast them flatte to the grounde.
Then were the moste depe places, of the seas made ryght open:
The wonderfull depe seas, I saye, whither the waters renne.
And at the checke thou gauest them, Lord when thou waste angred:
The bases and grownd worckes of the earth were vncouered.
But from heauē the Lorde sent downe his hande and set me free:
And out of most myghtie waters, by force he dyd drawe me.
He set me free from deadly foes that were myghtye and stronge:
And from my spytfull enimies, that were my maysters longe.
These dyd preuent me in the tyme, of my calamitie:
But the Lorde was my leaneynge staffe, and sure poste to stand by.
He brought me forth into a place, wyde & full of pleasure:
And set me free because he dyd beare to me greate fauour.
The Lord requited me my mede, after my ryghtuousenes:
And gaue to me rewarde after myne hādes vngyltines.
For the ways of the Lorde I dyd, alwayes kepe and obserue:
And frō my God I dyd neuer declyne a syde nor swarue.
For in my syght all his decrees, and lawes I do holde faste:
And the maners that he doeth teach, from me I do not caste.
Before hym do I leade my lyfe pure and vndefiled:
And so I kepe myself that I do nought that is wycked.
The Lorde therfore requiteth me, as my lyfe is vpryght:
And as myne handes are innocent, and gyltlesse in his syght.
Thou wylt shewe mercie vnto hym, that doeth studie mercie:
And wylt be faythfull to suche as do in dede faythfully.
To the curteise thou art gentyll, but vnto the frowarde:
That walke crokedly, thou also geuest alyke rewarde.
For people that be afflicted, thou doest preserue and kepe:
And eies that are loftie thou doest pul downe and cause to wepe.
And thou (O Lord) arte he that doest geue my candle hir lyght:
And my Lord God is he that doeth make all my dearcknes bryght.
For in the do I breake thorowe the armed armayes all:
And in my God (I say) I do, leape quite ouer the walle.
The waye of God is wythout spot, and the Lordes worde is pure:
And to all them that trust in hym it is a targate sure.
For whoe is it bysydes the Lorde, that is a God of myght?
Or who is it bysydes our God, that is a rocke sure pyght?
The same is God that teacheth me, to be myghtie in wars:
And maketh my waye expedite, in martiall affares.
He maketh my fete lyke the fete, of the hyndes that are swyfte:
And he it is that placeth me on hygh in my stepe clyfte.
He doeth enstructe myne handes to warre and teacheth me that skyll:
He geueth me strenght in myne armes, to breake a bowe of stele:
Thou hydst me wyth thy shylde of health, thy powre doeth me sustayne.
And of thy goodnes causest me ouer many to reygne.
My steppes and my path vnder me, thou haste made large and wyde:
Leste my ioynctes should stacker and then it myght chaunce me to slyde.
I persecuted myne enemyes, and dyd thē apprehende:
And dyd neuer returne tyll I, had brought them to theyr ende.
I wounde them in such sort that they can neuer ryse agayne:
And vnder my fete they do fall, as men that are quyte slayne.
Thou doest enstruct me vnto warre, wyth the powre martiall:
And when any ryse agaynst me, thou castest them downe all.
Thou causest that my deadly foes, do turne theyr backe to me:
And that I maye destroy al them that myne enimyes be.
They cald and cryed but ther was none, that would them kepe or saue:
Unto the Lord they cryed, I saye, and he no answere gaue.
I pounde them lyke vnto the duste, that wyth the wynde doeth flye:
So do I breake them lyke the dyrt, that in the streate doeth lye.
From the peoples contentions, Lord thou doest set me free:
Thou makest me heade of nations, strange people do serue me.
So sone as they heard wyth theyr eares they dyd to me apply:
Strayngars sonnes submitted them selfe vnto me faynedly.
The strayngars wythered awaye, theyr freshe courage dyd fall:
And in theyr secrete closettes they were sore amased all.
Let the Lorde lyue and let hym be praysed that is my staye:
And let the God of my soule health, be extolled I saye.
It is God that geueth me powre, for to reuenge my wronge:
And that doeth subdue vnto me, peoples mightie and stronge.
It is God that doeth leade me out from my deadly enmies:
Lord thou doest brynge me vp from thē that do agaynste me ryse.
And from the man that doeth purpose me wronge and violence:
Thou doest deliuer me I saye wyth carefull diligence.
And for this cause (O Lorde) I wyll, in the Heathen prayse the:
And wyll synge to thyne holy name, wherso euer I be.
And for the greatnes of the healthe, and prosperouse lyueynge:
Wherwyth thou doest enrych Dauid, thyne owne anoynted kynge.
And for the health wherby thou doest with benefites applye:
Thyne annoynted Dauid and eke his seede eternally.
