Insnare them by their own devisc,

For of their Lust they boast And praise those Freindes to Avarice, Whom God abboreth (sic) most. Their scornefull eies regard not thee, Their hartes do thee denay. Too high for them thy judgments be; Stil greevous is their way.

They snuff, and sleight their greatest Foes,

And (come what mischeeves will) Within their hartes, they doe suppose, That they shall prosper still. Their mouthes with curseings overflowe;

Their tongues lie, swear, and vaunt: The pore to catch and overthrowe,

Obscured paths they haunt.

They watch, unseene, for simple men,
To ceaze them unaware.

They lurck like Lions in their denn,
And slielie them insnare.

To catch the pore by lowlie shewes,

Their strength, doth help them on, They think in hart, that God nor viewes, Nor careth what is done.

But, rise oh Lord, thy powre to showe,
Leave not the pore forgot.

For, why should Sinners sleight thee

soe

And think thou mind'st them not? Thou see'st, yea see'st their wickedness That punished it may be:

And loe, the pore and Fatherles,
Committ their Cause to thee.
Lord God (their helper) break the
strength

Of ev'ry wicked-one;

Serch out their sinnes, and thou (at

length)

Shall cause them to have none.

Our everlasting king thou art,

Thou, from the Realme likewise,

Hast forc'd the Gentiles to depart,
And heard the poreman's cries.
Their harts thou shalt establish to,
And hear and judge, the pore;
That earth-bred man, the Orphan's foe,
May them oppresse no more.

GEORGE WITHER (1588-1667).

PSALM XI.

I PUT my trust in God my King!
How counsel ye then dastard flight?

How say ye to my soul, "Take wing And safety seek in mountain height.

"For lo, the wicked bend the bow, They to the string their arrow suit; Hid in the dark, that none may know, They ready stand at thee to shoot.

"The labor of thy hands is void;
In vain thou dost the work pursue;
If the foundations are destroyed,
What can the righteous man then do?"

The Lord is in His temple, why

Should we take counsel of despair? His throne is fixed above the sky, No earthly power can reach it there.

Enough to know, His eyes behold,
His eyelids try the sons of men-
He pures and purifies the gold,
And nought deceives his searching
ken.

Upon the wicked He shall rain

Snares, fire and brimstone as of yore; The portion of their cup is pain,

Is, was, and shall be evermore.

For that the Lord is righteous He Loves righteousness, and evil hates: The upright man His face shall see,Immortal honor him awaits.

ABRAHAM COLES.

PSALM XII.

HELP, Lord, because the godly man Doth daily fade away;

And from among the sons of men The faithful do decay.

Unto his neighbor ev'ry one

Doth utter vanity;

They with a double heart do speak, And lips of flattery.

God shall cut off all flatt'ring lips, Tongues that speak proudly, thus, We'll with our tongues prevail, our lips Are ours: who's lord o'er us?

These black clouds will overblow-
Sunshine shall have his returning;
And my grief-dulled heart, I know,
Into mirth shall change its mourning.
Therefore I'll rejoice and sing

Hymns to God in sacred measure,
Who to happy pass will bring
My just hopes at His good pleasure.
FRANCIS DAVIDSON (1575-1618).

PSALM XIV.

"THERE is no God,' the fool in secret said:

'There is no God that rules or earth or sky.'

Tear off the band that binds the wretch's head,

That God may burst upon his faithless eye;

Is there no God? The stars in myriads spread,

If he look up, the blasphemy deny; While his own features in the mirror read,

Reflect the image of Divinity.

Is there no God? The stream that silver flows,

The air he breathes, the ground he

treads, the trees,

The flowers, the grass, the sands, each wind that blows,

All speak of God; throughout one voice agrees,

And eloquent, his dread existence shows:

Blind to thyself, ah, see him, fool, in these.

GIOVANNI BATTISTA COTTA (1668-1738).

PSALM XV.

LORD, who's the happy Man that may
To thy blest Courts repair?
Not, Stranger-like to visit them,

But to inhabit there?

'Tis he, whose ev'ry Thought and Deed By Rules of Virtue moves; Whose gen'rous Tongue disdains to speak

The Thing his Heart disproves.

PSALM XVII.

HARKEN, O Lord, unto the right,
Attend unto my crye,

Give ears unto my pray'r that goes
From lips that doe not lye.

From thy face let my judgment come,
Thine eyes the right let see.

Thou rov'st mine heart, thou visitest
Bv night, and tryest me.

Yet nothing find'st, I have resolv'd
My mouth shall not offend.

From men's works; by word of thy lips
I spoylers paths attend.

Stay my feet in thy paths, lest my
Steps slip. I cal'd on thee,

For thou wilt heare, God, heare my speech

Incline thy ears to mee.

O thou that sav'st by thy right hand,
Thy marvelous mercyes.

Show unto them that trust in thee,
From such as 'gainst them rise.

(2)

As apple of thine eye mee keepe:
In thy wings' shade mee hide.
From wicked who mee waste: my foes
In heart are on each side.

Clos'd in their fat they are: and they

Speak with their mouth proudly. Thev round us in our stepps: they set On earth their bow'd downe eye. His likeness as a lion is,

That greedy is to teare,
In secret places lurking as
Hee a voung lion were.
Him, in his sight, rise disappoynt,
Make him bow downe O Lord,
Doe thou my soule deliver from
The wicked one, thy sword
From mortall men thine hand, O Lord,
From men that morall are.
And of this passing-world, who have
Within this life their share,
With thy hid treasure furthermore
Whose belly thou fillest:

Their sonnes are fil'd, and to their babes
Of wealth they leave the rest.
In righteousness thy favour I
Shall very clearely see,
And waking with thine image, I
Shall satisfied bee.

THE BAY PSALM BOOK (1640).

Th' unwearied sun, from day to day
Does his Creator's power display,
And publishes to every land
The work of an Almighty hand.

Soon as the evening shades prevail,
The moon takes up the wondrous tale,
And nightly to the list'ning earth
Repeats the story of her birth:
While all the stars that round her burn,
And all the planets in their turn,
Confirm the tidings, as they roll,
And spread the truth from pole to pole.
What though, in solemn silence, all
Move round the dark terrestrial ball?
What, though no real voice, nor sound,
Amidst their radiant orbs be found?
In Reason's ear they all rejoice,
And utter forth a glorious voice;
For ever singing, as they shine,
"The hand that made us is divine."
JOSEPH ADDISON (1672-1719); recently
attributed to ANDREW MARVELL
(1621-1678).