Sacred hymns Consisting of fifti select psalms of David and others, paraphrastically turned into English verse. And by Robert Tailour, set to be sung in five parts, as also to the viole, and lute or orph-arion. Published for the vse of such as delight in the exercise of music in hir original honour.

PSALM 139. (Book 139)

DAVID in this divine meditation, addressed to God, acknowelegeth at large Gods knowe∣lege of all things, even before they have beeing; and in particular of all the thoughts and ways of man: rendreth a reason of this Omniscience, from the creation of all, and particu∣larly from the merveilous fabric of man: which ravisheth his mynd into such admiration, that breaking into most affectionate praises of the manifold woorks and ways of God; he professeth also that his thoughts are no sooner after sleep awakened but they first are sea∣zoned with this sweet contemplation. Contrarily falling into extreme detestation yea and imprecation against those wicked ones, who blasphemous toward God, vainly extol Gods enimies: he concludeth with fervent praier, that himself may be purified by the grace of God, & so conducted through the ways of this world, as to attain finally his everlasting rest.

ETERNAL Light; gainst whose al-seeing ey, Mans thoughts, his cares, and ways, doo all transparent ly: Lo here my soule; which thow with piercing vieu, Hast searched, and doost knowe; so livĕst hir witnes true. Great Iudge of harts; who secret pleights unfold'st; Who past with future things all present ay behold'st: Thow knowĕst my coorse, when doun I sit, when rize; Yea thoughts unborn far off thy foresight strange descrys.

BY day my walks, at night my silent rest Thow doost envĭron, with skill to all my paths addrest. Observĕst my tong: no woord unwaigh'd doost leve: Yea, lips ere woords produce, or thoughts hid speach conceve. And grasp'st me so with thy al-guiding hand, Behynd, before, as prest at pleasure thyn to stand. Science profound; of strange transcending law! That man nor it can sound, nor self from it withdraw.

FOR whether go, how should I bend my flight, Thy spirit Lord to balk, or cloud me from thy sight? If sore towărd heavĕns; in heavĕn thy throne resides: If flag longst earth; lo earth thy footstool lowe abides: If stoop to hell, and iaws which gastly gape; Nor hell thy vieu, nor feends thy thundring stroke escape. If Eastern steeds, and Mornings crimson wings I timely mount, which round to utmost Ocĕan brings; Thou Easts great coorse, and Morns fair wings doost guid; Nor utmost Ocĕans gulfs from thyn aspect can hide.

PERHAPS might say, yet darknes mee may hele; Shee with hir sable robe from searchingst ey concele. And canst once think, weak shade which Sun dispels, Should Light of lights eclipse, who thousand Suns excels? Fond, base conceipt! To thee, ô Light divine, Both dark and bright are like; grim night as day dooth shine. :::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

FOR iust and right, that thou Creatour high, Who all hast framĕd, thy frame shouldst naked all descry: And who my hart, my reins in womb didst form; With lims support; attire with skin, with sence adorn; Shouldst hart and thoughts, shouldst sence and ways posses. Stupendious woork! which ay great Architect shal bless. A little world; yet world of wonders great: Which well my mynd conceipts, and tong of it shal treat.

MY bones in weak, in place obscure my sight, In earth beneath my mynd, fair spark of heavĕnli light, Thou didst produce: embroidĕring evĕrie part With woork so rare, that use with beauti strives in art. And dout we yet if thow thy woork didst knowe? Or can our tongs forbear thy glorious praise to shewe? Yea, tender mass, while formles it remaind, And day by day nue shape through vertu thyn aggaind: Thyn ey saw all, enrold in book divine; Where all thy woorks to com, as present, cleerly shine.

BE blest, great Lord: thy wisdoms beautĕous ways How precious, deerly sweet, to thee my soule doo raize? In skill, mans wit; in count, they pass the sands: That still my wakened mynd, with thee first present stands; Admiring all thy woorks. O righteous King; At length then pleaze thy world •…•…o first estate to bring. Extermin race defil'd. Ye men of bloud, Whose base flagitious mynds despize th'eternal Good; Who grace his foes; of him profanely prate; Avant from mee; your selfs, and damned ways I hate.

AH sovĕrain Iudge, to thee my soule appeals, My witnes true; whose spir̆it mans secretst thoughts reveals. That love of thee, gainst them griev'd hatred breeds, Whose venŏmous hate gainst thee breaks out in hostile deeds. Thy foes are myn: with them I leaug forsake: And firm in perfect hate to vengeance iust betake. :::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

THEN thow, my Lord, to whom I stand, or fall; Who rightĕous mynds approov'st, yet none canst perfect call: Revieu my hart, explore my thoughts again; And waigh what grieving coorse dooth in my life remain. 〈☐〉〈☐〉 Refine my soule: purge out corrupted vse: And safe through worldli waves to thy sweet rest conduce. 〈☐〉〈☐〉:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::