All, all my trust, Lord, I have putt in thee,
Never therefore, lett me confounded be,
But save me, save me in thy righteousnes.
Bow down thine eare; to heare how much I need:
Deliver me, deliver me in speed:
Bee my strong Rock, be thou my fortresse.
In deede thou art my Rock, my fortresse:
Then since my tongue, delights, that name to blesse,
Direct me how to goe, and guide me right.
Preserve me from the wyly wrapping nett,
Which they for me, with privie craft have sett:
For still I say thou art my only might.
Into thy handes, I doe commend my spright:
For it is thou, that hast restor’d my light:
O Lord that art the God of verity.
I hated have those men, whose thoughtes do cleave
To vanities: which most trust, most deceave:
For all my hope fixt upon God doth ly.
Thy mercy shall fill me with jolity,
For my annoies have come before thine ey:
Thou well hast known what plung my soule was in.
And thou hast not for ay enclosed me
Within the hand of hatefull enmity:
But hast enlarg’d my feete from mortall ginn.
O Lord of thee, lett me still mercy wynne;
For troubles, of all sides, have me within:
My ey, my gutts, yea my soule grief doth wast.
My life with heavines, my yeares with moane.
Doe pine: my strength with paine is wholy gon:
And ev’n my boanes consume, where they be plast.
All my feirce foes reproach on me did cast:
Yea neighbours more, my mates were so agast,
That in the streetes from sight of me they fledd:
Now I, now I my self forgotten find,
Even like a dead man, dreamed out of mind,
Or like a broken pott, in myre tredd.
I understand what railing greate men spredd:
Feare was each where, while they their councells ledd
All to this pointe, how my poore life to take
But I did trust in thee, Lord I did say,
Thou art my God, my time on thee doth stay:
Save me from foes, who seeke my bane to bake.
Thy face to shine upon thy servaunt make,
And save me in, and for thy mercies sake;
Lett me not tast of shame, ô Lord most hy.
For I have cal’d on thee; let wicked folk
Confounded be; and passe away like smoak;
Lett them in bedd of endlesse silence dy.
Lett those lipps be made dumb, which love to ly:
Which full of spight, of pride, and cruelty
Doe throw their wordes against the most upright.
Oh, of thy grace what endlesse pleasure flowes
To whom feare thee? what thou hast donne for those
That trust in thee, ev’n in most open sight?
And when neede were, from pride in privie plight
Thou hast hidd them; yet leaving them thy light
From strife of tongues, in thy pavilions plast.
Then praise, then praise I doe the Lord of us
Who was to me more then most gratious
Farre farre more sure, then walls most firmly fast.
Yet I confesse in that tempestious hast,
I said, that I from out thy sight was cast:
But thou didst heare, when I to thee did moane
Then love the Lord all ye that feele his grace:
Who paires the proud, preserves the faithfull race,
Be strong in hope, his strength shall you supply.