A paraphrase upon the Psalms of David by George Sandys ; set to new tunes for private devotion and a thorough-base for voice or instrument by Henry Lawes ; and in this edition carefully revised and corrected from many errors which passed in former impressions by John Playford.
About this Item
Title
A paraphrase upon the Psalms of David by George Sandys ; set to new tunes for private devotion and a thorough-base for voice or instrument by Henry Lawes ; and in this edition carefully revised and corrected from many errors which passed in former impressions by John Playford.
Author
Sandys, George, 1578-1644.
Publication
London :: Printed by W. Godbid for A. Roper,
1676.
Rights/Permissions
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Subject terms
Bible. -- O.T. -- Psalms -- Paraphrases, English.
Tune-books.
Cite this Item
"A paraphrase upon the Psalms of David by George Sandys ; set to new tunes for private devotion and a thorough-base for voice or instrument by Henry Lawes ; and in this edition carefully revised and corrected from many errors which passed in former impressions by John Playford." In the digital collection Early English Books Online. https://name.umdl.umich.edu/A27888.0001.001. University of Michigan Library Digital Collections. Accessed May 20, 2024.
Pages
PSALM LIII.
FOols, flattering their own vices, sayWithin their hearts; God is a NameDevis'd to make the Strong obey;To fetter Nature; quench her flame:When all this Universal FrameThe hands of potent Fortune sway.
Secure and prosperous in ill,The fear and thought of God exile,To follow their rebellious will;Think nothing that delights them vile:Their Souls with wicked thoughts defile;And all their foul Desires fulfill.
God from the Tow'r of Heav'n his EyesOn men, and their endeavours, threw:Not one beheld beneath the Skies,That sought him, or his Statutes knew:All Vice with winged Feet pursue;But none forsaken Virtue prise.
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O deaf to good! in knowledge blind!By Sin through clouds of errour led!Dull sensual Forms, without a Mind!Not slow, though certain, Vengeance dread!The Righteous they devour like bread;All piety at once declin'd.
These, idle terrours shall affright;Their sleeps disturb'd by guilty fear.God shall their Bones asunder smite,Who impious Arms against him bear;Nor they their Infamy out-wear;Since despiseable in his sight.
O that unto thy IsraelThe Day-star might from Sion spring!And all the shades of Night expel!When Thou shalt us from Bondage bring,How would we Lord thy Praises sing!No joy shall Iacobs joy excell.