11 Teach me, O Lord, thy way most right, I in thy truth will bide ; So shall it never slide. 12 Thee will I praise, O Lord my God, Thee honour and adore Thy name for evermore. 13 For great thy mercy is toward me, And thou hast freed my soul, From deepest darkness foul. 14 O God, the proud against me rise, And violent men are met No fear of thee have set. 15 But thou, Lord, art the God most mild, Readiest thy grace to show, Most merciful, most true. 16 Oh turn to me thy face at length, And me have mercy on: And save thy handmaid's son. 17 Some sign of good to me afford, And let my foes then see, Dost help and comfort me. PSALM LXXXVII. 1 Among the holy mountains high Is his foundation fast; His temple there is placed. Than all the dwellings fair And all within his care. 3 City of God, most glorious things Of thee abroad are spoke; Did our forefathers yoke. Philistia full of scorn; Lo! this man there was born: 5 But twice that praise shall in our ear Be said of Sion last ; High God shall fix her fast. 6 The Lord shall write it in a scroll, That ne'er shall be out-worn, When he the nations doth enrol, That this man there was born. 7 Both they who sing, and they who dance, With sacred songs are there ; In thee fresh brooks and soft streams glance And all my fountains clear. PSALM LXXXVIII. 1 LORD God, that dost me save and keep, All day to thee I cry; Before thee prostrate lie. 2 Into thy presence let my prayer, With sighs devout, ascend; Thine ear with favour bend. 3 For, cloy'd with woes and trouble sore, Surcharged my soul doth lie; Unto the grave draws nigh. 4 Reckon'd I am with them that pass Down to the dismal pit; And for that name unfit. 5 From life discharged and parted quite Among the dead to sleep; That in the grave lie deep : Whom thou rememberest no more, Dost never more regard; Death's hideous house hath barr’d. 6 Thou, in the lowest pit profound Hast set me all forlorn, In horrid deeps to mourn. 30 7 Thy wrath, from which no shelter saves, Full sore doth press on me; And all thy waves break me. 8 Thou dost my friends from me estrange, And makest me odious; And I here pent up thus. 9 Through sorrow and affliction great, Mine eye grows dim and dead; My hands to thee I spread. 10 Wilt thou do wonders on the dead ? Shall the deceased arise, With pale and hollow eyes ? 11 Shall they thy loving-kindness tell, On whom the grave hath hold ? Thy faithfulness unfold ? 12 In darkness can thy mighty hand Or wondrous acts be known ? Of dark oblivion ? 13 But I to thee, O Lord, do cry, Ere yet my life be spent ; Each morn, and thee prevent. 14 Why wilt thou, Lord, my soul forsake, And hide thy face from me, With terror sent from thee? As ready to expire, Astonish'd with thine ire. Thy threatenings cut me through : Like waves they me pursue. And sever'd from me far: And as in darkness are. 170 A PARAPHRASE ON PSALM CXIV. fifteen years old. T ? |