9 Surely to such as do him fear Salvation is at hand, And glory sball ere long appear To dwell within our land. 10 Mercy and truth that long were miss'd Sweet Peace and Righteousness have kiss'd, 40 11 Truth from the earth, like to a flower, Shall bud and blossom then, 45 And Justice from her heavenly bower 12 The Lord will also then bestow Whatever thing is good, Our land shall forth in plenty throw 13 Before him Righteousness shall go, His royal harbinger, Then will he come, and not be slow, PSALM LXXXVI. 1 THY gracious ear, O Lord, incline, 2 Preserve my soul, for I have trod 3 Pity me, Lord, for daily thee I call; 4. O make rejoice Thy servant's soul; for, Lord, to thee I lift my soul and voice. Heb. He will set his steps to the way. Heb. I am good, loving, a doer of good and holy things. 50 55 10 5 For thou art good, thou Lord art prone To pardon, thou to all Art full of mercy, thou alone To them that on thee call. Unto my supplication, Lord, Of my incessant prayers afford Thy hearing graciously. 7 I in the day of my distress Will call on thee for aid; For thou wilt grant me free access, 8 Like thee among the gods is none, O Lord, nor any works 25 Of all that other gods have done Like to thy glorious works. 9 The nations all whom thou hast made Shall come, and all shall frame 30 To bow them low before thee, Lord, And glorify thy name. 10 For great thou art, and wonders great By thy strong hand are done, Thou in thy everlasting seat 35 Remainest God alone. 11 Teach me, O Lord, thy way most right, I in thy truth will bide, To fear thy name my heart unite, So shall it never slide. 40 12 Thee will I praise, O Lord my God, Thee honour and adore With my whole heart, and blaze abroad Thy name for evermore. 45 13 For great thy mercy is toward me, 14 O God, the proud against me rise, 50 15 But thou, Lord, art the God most mild, Readiest thy grace to shew, Slow to be angry, and art styled Most merciful, most true. 16 O turn to me thy face at length, And me have mercy ou, Unto thy servant give thy strength, And save thy handmaid's son. 17 Some sign of good to me afford, And be ashamed, because thou Lord PSALM LXXXVII. 1 AMONG the holy mountains high There seated is his sanctuary, 2 Sion's fair gates the Lord loves more Of Jacob's land, though there be store, 3 City of God, most glorious things mention Egypt, where proud kings 4 I mention Babel to my friends, Philistia full of scorn, And Tvre with Ethiops' utmost ends, 15 5 But twice that praise shall in our ear Be said of Sion last, This and this man was born in her, 6 The Lord shall write it in a scroll 20 7 Both they who sing, and they who dance, In thee fresh brooks and soft streams glance, PSALM LXXXVIII. 1 LORD God, thou dost me save and keep, And all night long before thee weep, 2 Into thy presence let my prayer And to my cries that ceaseless are, Thine ear with favour bend. 3 For cloy'd with woes and trouble store Surcharged my soul doth lie, My life at death's uncheerful door Unto the grave draws nigh. 4 Reckon'd I am with them that pass Down to the dismal pit; I am a man, but weak alas, And for that name unfit. 5 From life discharged and parted quite Among the dead to sleep, 25 10 15 And like the slain in bloody fight That in the grave lie deep, 20 Whom thou rememberest no more, Dost never more regard, Them from thy hand deliver'd o'er, Death's hideous house hath barr'd. 6 Thou in the lowest pit profound Hast set me all forlorn, 25 Where thickest darkness hovers round, In horrid deeps to mourn. 7 Thy wrath, from which no shelter saves, Full sore doth press on me ; + Thou break'st upon me all thy waves, Heb. A man without manly strength. 30 & Thou dost my friends from me estrange, And mak'st me odious, Me to them odious, for they change, And I bere pent up thus. 9 Through sorrow, and affliction great, Mine eyes grow dim and dead, Lord, all the day I thee entreat, My hands to thee I spread. 10 Wilt thou do wonders on the dead? Shall the deceased arise, And praise thee from their loathsome bed With pale and hollow eyes? 11 Shall they thy loving kindness tell 12 In darkness can thy mighty hand Of dark oblivion? 35 40 45 50 13 But I to thee, O Lord, do cry, Ere yet my life be spent, And up to thee my pray'r doth hie 55 Each morn, and thee prevent. 14 Why wilt thou, Lord, my soul forsake, And hide thy face from me; 15 That am already bruised, and * shake With terror sent from thee? Bruised, and afflicted, and so low As ready to expire, While I thy terrors undergo Astonish'd with thine ire. 16 Thy fierce wrath over me doth flow, Thy threat'nings cut me through ; 17 All day they round about me go, Like waves they me pursue. Heb. Pre concussione. 65 |