PSALM XIX. COELI ENARRANT .

The heav’nly frame, setts foorth the fame
      Of him that only thunders:
   The firmament so strangly bent
      Showes his hand-working wonders.

Day unto day, it doth display,
      Their course doth it acknowledg:
   And night to night succeeding right
      In darknes teach cleare knowledg.

There is no speach, nor language, which
      Is soe of skill bereaved:
   But of the skies the teaching cries
      They have heard and conceaved.

There be no eyne, but read the line
      From soe faire booke proceeding:
   Their wordes be sett in letters greate
      For ev’ry bodies reading.

Is not he blind that doth not find
      The tabernacle builded
   There by his grace, for sunnes faire face
      In beames of beuty guilded!

Who foorth doth come, like a bridgroome
      From out his vailing places:
   As gladd is hee, as Giantes be
      To runne their mighty races.

His race is ev’n, from endes of heav’n
      About that vault he goeth:
   There be no Reames hid from his beames
      His heate to all he throweth.

O law of his, how perfect tis
      The very soule amending
   Gods wittnes sure, for ay doth dure
      To simplest, wisdome lending.

Gods doomes be right, and cheere the sprite:
      All his commandments being
   So purely wise, as give the eies
      Both light, and force of seeing.

Of him the feare, doth cleannes beare
      And soe endures for ever:
   His Judgments be self verity
      They are unrighteous never.

Then what man would, so soone seeke gold
      Or glittring golden money?
   By them is past, in sweetest tast
      Honny, or combe of honny.

By them is made, thy servantes trade
      Most circumspetly guarded:
   And who doth frame, to keepe the same
      Shall fully be rewarded.

Who is the man, that ever can
      His faultes know and acknowledg!
   O Lord clense me, from faultes that be
      Most secret from all knowledg.

Thy servant keepe, lest in him creepe
      Presumptuous sinnes offences:
   Let them not have, me for their slave,
      Nor raigne upon my sences.

Soe shall my sprite be still upright
      In thought and conversation;
   Soe shall I bide, well purifide
      From much abhomination.

Soe lett wordes sproong, from my weake tongue
      And my hartes meditation,
   My saving might, Lord, in thy sight
      Receave good acceptation.