« AnteriorContinuar »
Thou heard'ft when I began to pray, And thine almighty help was nigh, 3 Supported by thine heavenly aid,
I laid me down and flept fecure:
Not death fhould make my heart afraid,
Though I should wake and rife no more.
4 But God fuftain'd me all the night;
Salvation doth to God belong :
He rais'd my head to fee the light,
And makes his praife my morning fong.
PSALM IV. Long Metre.
Ver. 1, 2, 3, 5, 6, 7. Hearing of prayer; or, God our portion, and Christ our hope.
Hear and attend when I complain :
Thou hast enlarg'd me in diftrefs,
Bow down a gracious ear again.
2 Ye fons of men, in vain ye try
To turn my glory into hame:
How long will fcoffers love to lie,
And dare reproach my Saviour's name?
3 Know that the Lord divides his faints
From all the tribes of men befide?
He hears the cry of penitents
For the dear fake of Chrift who dy'd.
4 When our obedient hands have done
A thousand works of righteousness,
We put our truft in God alone,
And glory in his pard'ning grace.
Let the unthinking many fay,
Who will beflow fome earthly good?
But, Lord, thy light and love we pray;
Our fouls defire this heavenly food.
6 Then fhall my cheerful powers rejoice
At grace and favour fo divine;
Nor will I change my happy choice
For all their corn and all their wine.
PSALM IV. Common Metre. [*]
Ver. 3, 4, 5, 8. An evening pfalm.
ORD, thou wilt hear me when I pray;
I am forever thine :
I fear before thee all the day,
Nor would I dare to fin.
2 And while I reft my weary head,
From cares and bufinefs free,
'Tis fweet converfing on my bed
With my own heart and thee.
pay this evening facrifice;
And when my work is done,
Great God, my faith and hope relies
Upon thy grace alone.
4 Thus, with my thoughts compos'd to peace,
I'll give mine eyes to fleep;
Thy hand in fafety keeps my days,
And will my flumbers keep.
PSALM V. Common Metre. [*]
For the Lord's day morning.
1 ORD, in the morning thou fhalt hear
My voice afcending high :
To thee will I direct my prayer,
To thee lift up mine eye.
2 Up to the hills, where Chrift is gone,
To plead for all his faints,
Prefenting at his Father's throne
Our fongs and our complaints.
3 Thou art a God, before whofe fight
The wicked fhall not ftand:
Sinners fhall ne'er be thy delight,
Nor dwell at thy right hand.
4 But to thy houfe will I refort,
To tafte thy mercies there;
I will frequent thine holy court,
And worship in thy fear.
5 O may thy Spirit guide my feet,
In ways of righteoufnefs!
Make every path of duty ftraight
And plain before my face.
6 My watchful enemies combine
To tempt my feet aftray;
They flatter with a bafe defign
To make my foul their prey.
7 Lord, crush the ferpent in the duft,
And all his plots deftroy;
While thofe, who in thy mercy truft,
Forever fhout for joy.
8 The men, who love and fear thy name,
Shall fee their hopes fulfill'd;
The mighty God will compafs them
With favour as a fhield.
PSALM VI. Common Metre. [b]
Complaint in fickness; or difeafes healed.
N anger, Lord, rebuke me not,
Nor let thy fury grow fo hot
Against a feeble worm.
2 My foul's bow'd down with heavy caros,
My flesh with pain opprefs'd;
My couch is witnefs to my tears,
My tears forbid my reft.
3 Sorrow and pain wear out my days;
I waste the night with cries,
Counting the minutes as they pass,
Till the flow morning rife.
Shall I be fill tormented more?
Mine eyes confum'd with grief?
How long, my God, how long before
Thy hand affords relief?
5 He hears when duft and ashes speak;
He pities all our groans;
He faves us for his mercy's fake,
And heals our broken bones.
6 The virtue of his fovereign word
Reftores our fainting breath;
But filent graves praife not the Lord,
Nor is he known in death.
PSALM VI. Long Metre. [b]
Temptations in fickness overcome.
1 ORD, I can fuffer thy rebukes
When thou with kindnefs doft chaftife;
But thy fierce wrath I cannot bear;
O let it not against me rise !
2 Pity my languishing eftate,
And eafe the forrows which I feel;
The wounds thine heavy hand hath made,
O let thy gentler touches heal!
3 See how I pafs my weary days
In fighs and groans; and when 'tis night,
My bed is water'd with my tears;
My grief confumes and dims my fight.
4 Look how the powers of nature mourn!
How long, almighty God, how long?
When fhall thine hour of grace return?
When fhall I make thy grace my fong?
I feel my flesh fo near the grave,
My thoughts are tempted to defpair :
But graves can never praife the Lord,
For all is duft and filence there.
6 Depart, ye tempters, from my foul;
And all defpairing thoughts, depart;
My God, who hears my humble moan,
Will eafe my flesh and cheer my heart.
PSALM VII. Common Metre. [b] 's care of his people, and punishment of perfecutors. Y truft is in my heavenly Friend, my Rife, and my helpless life defend From thofe who feek my blood. 2 With infolence and fury they My foul in pieces tear, As hungry lions rend the prey When no deliverer's near.
3 If I had e'er provok'd them first,
Or once abus'd my foe,
Then let him tread my life to duft,
And lay mine honour low.
4 If there be malice hid in me,
I know thy piercing eyes;
I should not dare appeal to thee,
Nor afk my God to rife.
5 Arife, my God, lift up thy hand,
Their pride and power control;
Awake to judgment, and command
Deliverance for my foul.
6 [Let finners and their wicked rage Be humbled to the duft:
7 He knows the heart, he tries the reins,
He will defend th' upright:
His fharpeft arrows he ordains
Against the fons of fpite.
For me their malice digg'd a pit,
But there themfelves are caft;
My God makes all their mischief light
On their own heads at latt.]
That cruel, perfecuting race
Muft feel his dreadful fword;
Awake, my soul, and praise the grace
And juftice of the Lord.
Shall not the God of truth engage
To vindicate the juft?
PSALM VIII. Short Metre. [*]
God's fovereignty and goodness, and man's dominion over the creatures.
LORD, our heavenly King,
Thy name is all divine;
Thy glories round the earth are spread,
And o'er the heavens they fhine:
When to thy works on high
I raise my wond'ring eyes,
And fee the moon complete in light
Adorn the darkfome fkies:
When I furvey the ftars,
And all their fhining forms,
Lord, what is man, that worthlefs thing,
A-kin to duft and worms!
Lord, what is worthless man,
That thou fhould't love him fo!
Next to thine angels is he plac'd,
And lord of all below.
Thine honours crown his head,
While beafts like flaves obey,
And birds that cut the air with wings,
And fish that cleave the fea.
6 How rich thy bounties are! And wondrous are thy ways: