The whole Psalter translated into English Metre which contayneth an hundreth and fifty Psalmes |
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Psalme. LXXXVIII.
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 | The whole Psalter translated into English Metre |  |
Psalme. LXXXVIII.
The Argument.
Here is a mone: most piteous,of man afflicte in stresse:
It payntes Christes death: most dolorous,
hys sepulture in flesh.
1
My louyng Lord: and God of grace,on whom my health dependth:
Both day and night: before thy face,
my crye I haue extend.
2
O let therfore: my prayer soonecome now before thy sight:
Inclyne thyne eare: and heare my bone,
with teares which I endight.
243
3
My soule is full: of miseries,in woes full gorgd I rore:
My lyfe in sight: to all mens eyes,
is euen at death hys dore.
4
As one of them: I am esteemd,that tumble must in pit:
A sely man: I am but deemd,
so voyde of strength I sit.
5
As free (from toyle) among the dead,as wounded slepe in graue:
Who far from mynd: be sonke as lead,
whom slayne thy handes now haue.
6
In pit most deepe: thou hast me throwne,in deathes and hels dispayre,
In places darke: down low bestown,
where commth no lyght nor ayre.
7
Thy fury Lord: lyeth hard on me,oh stiffe on euery side:
And vext thou hast: both hart and eye,
wyth all thy stormes full tryde.
8
Thou hast driuen far: my frendes from me,acquaynted most to see:
Abhord of them: thou madest me be,
thus bound I cannot flee.
9
My sight doth fayle: for heauines,to thee Lord yet I cry:
No day from thee: Lord would I cease,
to lift my handes full hye.
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10
Thy meruels great: wylt thou deuise,to worke to buried men?
Or els shall sprites: to lyfe aryse,
thy laudes to sound agayne?
11
Or shall my graue: thy pitie tell,when once thou hast me slayne?
Or shall thy truth: be proued so well,
when I destroyd am layne?
12
Thy wondrous workes: which wrought thy hand,Shall darkenes them expresse?
Or shall thy iustice shyne in land,
of mere forgetfulnes?
13
To thee O Lord: my prayer went,to whom els should I go?
Yea still my sute: shall thee preuent,
at morne while lastth my wo.
14
Why than O Lord: abhorst my soule,all helpe from me to wynde?
Why hidest thy face: from me so whole,
that I no grace can fynde?
15
Afflict I am: at poynt to dye,from youth thus haue I bene:
In hart astound: thy dreades fele I,
so fearefull they be sene.
16
Thy sower wrathes: so multiplied,hane ouerwhelmed me:
Thy terrours eke: which sore abyde,
haue stroyd me whole to see.
245
17
They daily did: passe ouer me,as water surges hye:
They compasd me: in certenty,
euen round about full nye.
18
Both frend and kinne: from me full far,thou hast put whole away:
My frendes that were: familiar,
in darke fro me they stray.
| The whole Psalter translated into English Metre | |