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. 12 Thee will I praise, O Lord my God, With my whole heart, and blaze abroad 13 For great thy mercy is toward me, 14 O God, the proud against me rise, And violent men are met To seek my life, and in their eyes No fear of thee have set. 15 But thou, Lord, art the God most mild, Slow to be angry, and art styled 16 Oh turn to me thy face at length, Unto thy servant give thy strength, 17 Some sign of good to me afford, And be ashamed; because thou, Lord, 46. 50 бо PSALM LXXXVII. 1 AMONG the holy mountains high Is his foundation fast; There seated is his sanctuary, His temple there is placed. 2 Sion's fair gates the Lord loves more Of Jacob's land, though there be store, 3 City of God, most glorious things I mention Egypt, where proud kings 4 I mention Babel to my friends, And Tyre, with Ethiop's utmost ends, 5 But twice that praise shall in our ear This and this man was born in her: 6 The Lord shall write it in a scroll, 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. IC 20 PSALM LXXXVIII. 1 LORD GOD, that dost me save and keep, And all night long before thee weep, 2 Into thy presence let my prayer, 3 For, cloy'd with woes and trouble sore, 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 And like the slain in bloody fight, Whom thou rememberest no more, 6 Thou, in the lowest pit profound Where thickest darkness hovers round, 10 20 7 Thy wrath, from which no shelter saves, Thou break'st upon me all thy waves, 8 Thou dost my friends from me estrange, Me to them odious, for they change, 9 Through sorrow and affliction great, 10 Wilt thou do wonders on the dead? And praise thee from their loathsome bed, 11 Shall they thy loving-kindness tell, 12 In darkness can thy mighty hand 13 But I to thee, O Lord, do cry, Ere yet my life be spent ; And up to thee my prayer doth hie Each morn, and thee prevent. 50 40 30 14 Why wilt thou, Lord, my soul forsake, 15 That am already bruised, and shake Bruised and afflicted, and so low 16 Thy fierce wrath over me doth flow; 18 Lover and friend thou hast removed, They fly me now whom I have loved, 170 A PARAPHRASE ON PSALM CXIV. This and the following Psalm were done by the Author at fifteen years old. WHEN the bless'd seed of Terah's faithful son, And pass'd from Pharian fields to Canaan land, |