Psalm LXXXVIII.
1
To thee my Saviour and my Lord,
I cry both night and day:
O let my words before thee come,
And hear me when I pray.
2
My soul is troubled very sore,
My life is near the grave:
I am like those already dead,
And who no power have.
3
I free among the dead men am,
That slain and buried lie:
Who by thy hand are quite cut off,
And out of memory.
4
In lowest pit thou hast me laid,
And darkest dungeon thrown:
Thy wrath upon me lieth hard,
Thy waves have prest me down.
5
My old acquaintance me forsake,
They hate and loath me so:
As one unclean I am shut up,
And forth I cannot go.
6
My eye doth mourn continually,
So great my sorrows be:
And every day I stretch my hands,
And thus I cry to thee.
7
Wilt thou thy wonders shew, O Lord,
To them that lie in dust?
Shall they arise and tell the world
That thou art good and just?
8
Can they in graves thy wonders know,
Where bodies lie and rot?
Or see thy goodness in the land,
Where all things are forgot?
9
But I have cry'd to thee, O Lord,
And early will I pray:
O why then dost thou cast me off,
And turn thy face away?
10
I am afflicted from my youth,
And ready am to die,
I am almost beside my self,
Thou dost so terrifie.
11
Thy fierce wrath goeth over me,
Thy terrors strike me dead:
And I by floods of enemies,
Am daily compassed.
12
Thou hast removed far from me,
My lover and my friend:
My old acquaintance hide themselves,
And will no succour lend.
