Me thincks amidd my hart I heare;
What guilty wickednes doth say,
Which wicked folkes doe holde soe deare:
Even thus it self, it doth display,
No feare of God, doth once appeare,
Before his eyes that soe doth stray.
For those same eies, his flatterers be,
Till his known ill do hatred gett:
His wordes, deceipt, iniquity
His deedes: yea thoughts all good forgett.
A bedd on mischief, muzeth he,
Abroad his stepps be wrongly sett.
Lord how the heav’ns thy mercy fills?
Thy truth above the cloudes most hy:
Thy righteousnesse like hugest hills,
Thy judgments like the deepes do ly.
Thy grace with safty man fulfills,
Yea beastes, made safe, thy goodenesse try.
O Lord how excellent a thing
Thy mercy is; which makes mannkind
Trust in the shadow of thy wing.
Who shall in thy house fattnesse find,
And drinck from out thy pleasures spring
Of pleasures past, the reach of mind.
For why, the well of life thou art
And in thy light, we shall see light.
O then extend thy loving hart
To them, that know thee, and thy might:
O then thy righteousnes impart
To them, that be in soules upright.
Lett not proud feete make me their thrall;
Lett not ill handes, disscomfit me;
Lo there, I now foresee their fall;
Who doe ill workes: loe I do see
They are cast down, and never shall
Have powre againe, to raised be.