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PSALME LI.
As the 10.
O Thou, From whom all Mercy springs,
Compassionate my Sufferings;
And pity me,
That trust in Thee!
O shelter with thy shady Wings,
Vntill these stormes of Woe
Cleare-up, or over-blow!
Thee I invoke, O thou Most High,
Thou All-performer! from the Skie
Thy Angels send;
Let them defend
My Soule from him that would destroy:
O send thy Mercy downe;
VVith Truth thy Promise crowne!
For Salvage Lions girt me round,
And they whose Malice knowes no bound;
Their cruell Words
More sharp then Swords;
Their Teeth like Speares and Arrowes wound.
To Heaven thy Glory raise;
Let Earth resound thy Praise.
They subtill snares prepared have,
And bow'd my Soule even to the Grave:
With wicked wit
Have digg'd a pit,
From which themselves they could not save:
But justly fell therein,
Intrapt by their owne Sin.
My ravisht Heart flames with desire;
I to the Musicke of my Lyre,
Eternall King,
Thy Praise will sing.
Awake my Glory! Zeale inspire!
Awake my Harp and Lute,
Nor in his Praise be mute!
To thee, before the Morning rise,
My Lips their Calves shall sacrifice:
Thy Mercy farre
The highest Starre,