A paraphrase upon the divine poems. By George Sandys

About this Item

Title
A paraphrase upon the divine poems. By George Sandys
Author
Sandys, George, 1578-1644.
Publication
London :: [Printed by John Legatt, sold] at the Bell in St. Pauls Church-yard [i.e. the shop of Andrew Hebb],
M.DC.XXXVIII. [1638]
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Link to this Item
http://name.umdl.umich.edu/A11474.0001.001
Cite this Item
"A paraphrase upon the divine poems. By George Sandys." In the digital collection Early English Books Online. https://name.umdl.umich.edu/A11474.0001.001. University of Michigan Library Digital Collections. Accessed May 18, 2025.

Pages

Page 28

PSALME. XXV.
As the 2.
ON Thee with Confidence I call, To thee my troubled Soule erect: Lord, let not Same my looke deject, Nor Malice triumph in my fall. Thy Servants save; but those confound, Who Innocence with slander wound.
In thy disclosed paths direct; Thy Truth, that leading Starre, display: O my Redeemer! every day My dangers thy reliefe expect. Thinke of thy Mercies showne of old; Thy Mercies more then can be told.
The sinnes of my unbridled Youth, Nor fraile Transgressions call to minde: Let those that seeke, thy Mercie finde, Even for the honour of thy Truth. God, ever just and good, the way Of life will shew to such as stray.
The Meeke in righteousnesse shall guide; To such his heavenly Will expresse: Which shall with Truth and Mercie blesse All such as in his Lawes abide. My sinnes, so numerous and great O for thy honour, Lord, forget!
[Part. 2] VVhat's he who feares The ever-Blest? To him shall he his Paths disclose: His Soule refresht with calme repose; The Land by his faire Race possest: To him his Counsels shall impart, And seale his Covenants in his heart.
On thee with fixed Eyes I wait: My feet inlarge thou from their snares. O pittie me so worne with cares; Despised, poore, and desolate! The troubles of my mind increase; Lord, from their galling yoke release!

Page 29

Behold thou my affliction, The toile and straits, wherein I live: My sinnes, so infinite, forgive. Behold my Foes, how potent growne! How are they multipli'd of late, VVho hate me with a deadly hate!
Deliver, ô! from shame ptotect; Since from my Faith I never swerve: Let Innocence and Truth preserve, VVho constantly thy ayd expect. Redeeme thy chosen Israel, And sorrow from his brest expell.
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