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14 O God, the proud against me rise,
And violent men are met
15 But thou, Lord, art the God most mild,
Readiest thy grace to shew,
16 O, turn to me thy face at length,
And me have mercy on;
17 Some sign of good to me afford,
And let my foes then see,
1 Among the holy mountains high
Is his foundation fast;
2 Sion's fair gates the Lord loves more
Than all the dwellings fair
3 City of God, most glorious things
Of thee abroad are spoke;
4 I mention Egypt, where proud kings
Did our forefathers yoke.
I mention Babel to my friends,
Philistia full of scorn;
Lo this man there was born:
5 But twice that praise shall in our ear
Be said of Sion last;
6 The Lord shall write it in a scroll
That ne'er shall be out-worn,
7 Both they who sing, and they who dance,
With sacred songs are there;
Loed God, that dost me save and keep, All day to thee I cry;
2 Into thy presence let my prayer
With sighs devout ascend;
3 For, cloy'd with woes and trouble store,
Surcharg'd my soul doth lie;
4 Reckon'd I am with them that pass
Down to the dismal pit;
5 From life discharg'd and parted quite
Among the dead to sleep;
Whom thou rememberest no more,
Dost never more regard,
Death's hideous house hath barr'd.
6 Thou in the lowest pit profound
Hast set me all forlorn,
7 Thy wrath, from, which no shelter saves,
Full sore doth press on me;
8 Thou dost my friends from me estrange,
And mak'st me odious,
9 Through sorrow, and affliction great,
Mine eye grows dim and dead;
10 Wilt thou do wonders on the dead 1
Shall the deceas'd arise,
11 Shall they thy loving-kindness tell,
On whom the grave hath hold?
12 In darkness can thy mighty hand
Or wonderous acts be known?
13 But I to thee, O Lord, do cry,
Ere yet my life be spent;
14 Why wilt thou, Lord, my soul forsake,
And hide thy face from me,
15 That am already bruis'd, and shake
With terrour sent from thee?
Bruis'd, and afflicted, and so low
As ready to expire;
Astonish'd with thine ire.
16 Thy fierce wrath over me doth flow;
Thy threatenings cut me through:
17 All day they round about me go,
Like waves they me pursue.
18 Lover and friend thou hast remov'd,
And sever'd from me far:
A PARAPHRASE ON PSALM CXIV.
This and the following Psalm were done by the Author at fifteen years old.
When the blest seed of Terah's faithful son,
1 'Pharian :' Egyptian.