7 Thou wilt prepare our hearts to pray,
And cause thine ear to hear;
Hearken to what thy children say,
And put the world in fear.
8 Proud tyrants shall no more oppress;
No more despise the just;
And mighty finners shall confess
They are but earth and dust.
PSALM XI. Long Metre.
God loves the righteous, and hates the wicked.
Y refuge is the God of love;
Why do my foes infult and cry,
Fly, like a tim'rous, trembling dove,
To distant woods or mountains fly ?
2 If government be all destroy'd,
(That firm foundation of our peace)
And violence make justice void,
Where shall the righteous seek redress ?
3 The Lord in heav'n has fix'd his throne;
His eyes farvey the world below;
To him all mortal things are known;
His eye-lids search our spirits through.
4 If he afflicts his faints so far,
To prove their love and try their grace,
What may the bold tranfgressors fear!
His very foul abhors their ways.
5 On impious wretches he shall rain
Tempests of brimstone, fire and death,
Such as he kindled on the plain
Of Sodom, with his angry breath.
6 The righteous Lord loves righteous fouls,
Whose thoughts and actions are sincere,
And with a gracious eye beholds
The men who his own image bear.
PSALM XII. Long Metre.
The faints' Safety & hope in evil times; or, fins of the tongue complained of, viz. blasphemy, falsehood, &c.
LORD, if thou doft not foon appear,
Virtue and truth will flee away;
A faithful man among us here
Will scarce be found, if thou delay.
2 The whole discourse, when neighbours meet,
Is fill'd with trifles loose and vain;
Their lips are flatt'ry and deceit,
And their proud language is profane.
3 But lips that with deceit abound
Shall not maintain their triumph long:
The God of vengeance will confound
The flatt'ring and blafpheming tongue.
4 Yet shall our words be free, they cry,
Our tongues shall be control'd by none :
Where is the Lord will ask us why ?
Or fay our lips are not our own ?
5 The Lord, who fees the poor oppress'd,
And hears th' oppressor's haughty strain,
Will rise to give his children rest,
Nor shall they trust his word in vain.
6 Thy word, O Lord, though often try'd,
Void of deceit shall still appear;
Not filver, sev'n times purify'd
From dross and mixture, shines so clear.
7 Thy grace shall, in the darkest hour, Defend the holy foul from harm; Though when the vilest men have pow'r, On ev'ry fide will finners swarm.
PSALM XII. Common Metre. Complaint of a general corruption of manner's; or the promise & figns of Christ's coming to judgment.
ELP, Lord, for men of virtue fail;
Religion lofes ground!
The fons of violence prevail,
And treacheries abound.
2 Their oaths and promises they break,
Yet act the flatt'rer's part;
With fair deceitful lips they speak,
And with a double heart.
3 If we reprove some hateful lie,
How is their fury ftirr'd!
Are not our lips our own, they cry,
And who shall be our Lord ?
4 Scoffers appear on ev'ry fide,
Where a vile race of men
Is rais'd to feats of pow'r and pride,
And bear the fword in vain.
5 Lord, when iniquities abound,
And blafphemy grows bold,
When faith is hardly to be found,
And love is waxing cold;
6 Is not thy chariot hast'ning on?
Hast thou not giv'n the fign?
May we not trust and live upon
A promise so divine?
7 "Yes, faith the Lord, now will I rife,
And make oppressors flee;
I shall appear to their surprise,
And fet my servants free."
8 Thy word, like silver sev'n times try'd,
Through ages shall endure :
The men who in thy truth confide
Shall find thy promise sure.
PSALM XIII. Long Metre.
Pleading with God under defertion; or bope in darkness.
OW long, O Lord, shall I complain
Like one who feeks his God in vain ?
Canst thou thy face forever hide,
And I still pray and be deny'd ?
2 Shall I forever be forgot,
As one whom thou regardest not ?
Still fhall my foul thy absence mouin?
And still despair of thy return?
3 How long shall my poor troubled breaft
Be with these anxious thoughts oppress'd?
And fatan, my malicious foe,
Rejoice to fee me funk so low?
4 Hear, Lord, and grant me quick relief,
Before my death concludes my grief;
If thou withhold'st thy heav'nly light,
I fleep in everlasting night.
5 How will the pow'rs of darkness boast,
If but one praying foul be lost!:
But I have trusted in thy grace,
And shall again behold thy face.
6 Whate'er my fears or foes suggest,
Thou art my hope, my joy, my rest;
My heart shall feel thy love, and raise
My cheerful voice to songs of praise.
PSALM XIII. Common Metre.
Complaint under temptations of the devil.
OW long wilt thou conceal thy face? My God, how long delay ? When shall I feel those heav'nly rays Which chase my fears away ?
2 How long shall my poor lab'ring foul
Wrestle and toil in vain ?
Thy word can all my foes control,
And ease my raging pain.
3 See how the prince of darkness tries
All his malicious arts;
He spreads a mist around my eyes,
And throws his fiery darts.
4 Be thou my fun, be thou my shield;
My foul in safety keep;
Make haste, before mine eyes are seal'd
In death's eternal fleep,
5 How would the tempter boast aloud
If I become his prey?
Behold the fons of hell grow proud
At thy so long delay!
6 But, they shall fly at thy rebuke,
And fatan hide his head:
He knows the terrors of thy look,
And hears thy voice with dread.
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