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A translation of the psalms of David

attempted in the Spirit of Christianity, and adapted to the divine service. By Christopher Smart

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PSALM LI.
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PSALM LI.

On a soul with sins encumber'd,
Lord, have pity and redeem,
As thy mercies are unnumber'd,
And thy goodness is extream.
Wash me throughly so polluted
With this hateful filth within;
Let thy merit be imputed
To my tears to cleanse my sin.
For by faith and fair confession
I my follies have resign'd,
And a sense of my transgression
Is for ever in my mind.
Thee, thine awful presence solely
Has my sin prophan'd, and shown
That thou art most true, most holy,
When thy words and works are known.
Lo! I was engender'd vicious,
And the lump within the womb,
Made against the Lord malicious,
Did false principles assume.
But internal truth demanding,
Thou hast search'd me to the heart;
And to raise my understanding
Secret wisdom shalt impart.
With the wholesome hyssop purging,
Pure again my veins shall flow,
And in springing baths immerging,
Thou shalt make me white as snow.
Thou shalt make me hear the voices
Which with joy thy name invoke,
As thy healing pow'r rejoices
All the bones that thou hast broke.
Turn thee from my foul disgraces,
Nor my soul in terror plunge;
Spare my sins, and all the traces
Of my evil deeds expunge.
With another heart endue me,
And my tainted vitals clean;
In the spirit, Lord, renew me,
And my troubled mind serene.
Cast me not away for ever
From the glory of thy face,
Nor my sinking soul dissever
From the spirit of thy grace.

48

O console me to inherit
All my part in thee again,
And confirm me with thy spirit
Thy true freedom to maintain.
So shall I, so prone to trample
And thy holy laws desert,
Both by precept and example
Sinners to thy ways convert.
Rid me from this guilt's compunction,
Lord, with healing in thy wing,
And my tongue, in sweet conjunction
With my harp, thy truth shall sing.
With thy blessed inspiration,
Lord, thou shalt my lips unseal,
And my mouth with exultation
Shall thy glorious laud reveal.
Gifts for thy returning favour
I would give, didst thou require;
But thou likest not the savour
Which is wafted from the fire.
God's best off'ring is contrition
From a man divinely meek;
Thou reject'st not the condition
Of a heart at point to break.
O again be good and gracious,
Zion's ruin'd state review;
Walls so high and streets so spacious,
Come and build her up anew.
Thus our all-benign Creator
We shall better please and praise;
Pray'r and gratitude are greater
Than when loaded altars blaze.