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7 I therefore come-come to fulfil
The oracles thy books impart; 8 'Tis my delight to do thy will; Thy law is written in my heart.
Thy truth and righteousness at large ;
From utt’ring what thou gav'st in charge : 10 Nor kept within my breast confin'd
Thy faithfulness and saving grace ;
That all might that, and truth, embrace. 11 Then let those mercics I declar'd
To others, Lord, extend to me;
Thy truth my safe protection be. 12 For I with troubles am distress'd,
Too numberless for me to bear ;
That plunge and sink me to despair..
The hairs of this afflicted head;
For never was more pressing need;
And add to that deliv'rance speed. 14 Confusion on thcir heads return,
Who to destroy my soul combine ;
Ensar'd in their own vile desig?. 15 Their doom let desolation be,
With shame their malice be repaid,
And sport of my alhiction made.
To joyful triumphs shall be rais'd ;
With me resound, the Lord be prais'd.
17 Thus, wretched though I am and poor,
Of me th’ Almighty Lord takes care :
Relieves the poor distress'd !
The Lord shall give him rest. 2 The Lord his life, with blessings crown'd,.
In safety shall prolong;
That seek to do him wrong. 3 If he in languishing estate,
Oppress'd with sickness lie ;
And inward strength supply. 4 Secure of this, to thee, my God,
I thus my pray'r address'd ;
“ Though I have much transgress’d." 5. My cruel foes, with sland'rous words,
Attempt to wound my fame ; “ When shall he die," say they," and men
“ Forget his very name ?"
'Tis all but empty show ;
And vent it wiiere they go. 7, 8 "'ith private whispers, such as these,
To hurt me they devise :
“ He's fall'n no more to rise." 9 My own familiar bosom-friend,
On whom I most rely’d,
With open scorn defy’d.
In mercy, Lord, regard ;
May meet their just reward. 11 By this I know thy gracious ear
Is open, when I call;
To triumph in my fall.
12 Thy tender care secures my life
From danger and disgrace ;
Before thy glorious face.
From age to age be bless'd ;
When heated in the chase ;
And thy refreshing grace.
My thirsty soul doth pine ;
Thou Majesty Divine ?
Insulting foes upbraid ;
“ And where his promis'd aid ?”
Those happy days present,
Thy temple did frequent.
My solemn vows to pay,
That kept the festal day.
Trust God; who will employ
To thankful hymns of jos:
On thee and Sion still ;
And Mizar's humbler hill. 7 One trouble calls another on,
And gath'ring o'er my head,
A roaring sea is spread.
Has once dispell’d this storm,
And all my vows perform.
9 God of my strength, how long shall I,
Like one forgotten, mourn ;
To my oppressor's scorn ?
While thus my foes upbraid :
“ And where his promis'd aid ?"
Hope still; and thou shalt sing
PSALM XLIII. 1 (UST Judge of heav'n, against my foes
Do thou assert my injur'd right;
Th in deceit and wrong delight. 2 Since thou art still my only stay,
Why leav'st thou me in deep distress? Why go I mourning all the day,
Whilst me ingulting foes oppress? 3 Let me with light and truth be blest;
Be these my guides to lead the way,
And in thy sacred temple pray. 4 Then will I there fresh altars raise
To God, who is my only joy ;
Shall all my grateful hours employ. 5 Why then cast down, my soul ? and why
So much oppress'd with anxious care?
O LORD, our fathers oft have told
Thy wonders in their days perform'd,
And elder times than theirs : 2 How thou, to plant them here, didst drive
The heathen from this land,
Of thy avenging hand.
3 For not their courage, nor their sword,
To them possession gave ;
Their fainting troops could save :
Whosc succour they implor'd ;
Who thy great Name ador'd.
Thou art our sov'reign King ;
To us deliv'rance bring. 5 Through thy victorious Name, our arms
The proudest foes shall quell ;
As oft as they rebel.
When I in fight engage ; 7 But thee, who hast our foes subdu'd,
And sham'd their spiteful rage. 8 To thee the triumph we ascribe,
From whom the conquest came:
Most shamefully we yield;
Our armies to the field :
We turn our backs in fight;
Who bear us ancient spite. 11 To slaughter doom'd, we fall, like sheep,
Into their butch'ring hands;
Dispers'd through heathen lands. 12 Thy people thou hast sold for slaves,
And set their price so low,
But their disgrace, may grow. 13, 14 Reproach'd by all the nations round,
The heathen's by-word grown;
And mocking gestures, shown.