I curb'd my hasty words, when I

the wicked prosp'rous saw. 2 Like one that's dumb, I silent stood,

and did my tongue refrain From good discourse; but that restraint

increas'd ny inward pain. 3 My heart did glow with working thoughts,

and no repose could take; Till strong reflection fann'd the fire,

and thus at length I spake: 4 Lord, let me know my term of days,

how soon my life will end : The num'rous train of ills disclose,

which this frail state attend. 5 My life, thou know'st, is but a span;

a cypher sums my years ; And every man, in best estate,

but vanity appears. 6 Man, like a shadow, vainly walks,

with fruitless cares oppress'd; He heaps up wealth, but cannot tell

by whom 'twill be possess'd. 7 Why then should I on worthless toys

with anxious cares attend ? On thee alone my steadfast hope

shall ever, Lord, depend. 8, 9 Forgive my sins; nor let me scorn'd

by foolish sinners be; For I was dumb, and murmur'd not

because 'twas done by thee. 10 The dreadful burden of thy wrath

in mercy soon remove; Lest my frail flesh, too weak to bear

the heavy load should prove. 11 For when thou chast'nest man for sin,

thou mak'st his beauty fade, (So vain a thing is he !) like cloth

by fretting moths decay'd. 12 Lord, hear my cry, accept my tears,

and listen to my prayer, Who sojourn like a stranger here,


fathers were. 13 O! spare me yet a little time;

my wasted strength restore, Before I vanish quite from hence, and shall be seen no more.

PSALM XL. 1 WAITED meekly for the Lord,

till he vouchsaf'd a kind reply; Who did his gracious ear afford,

and heard frona heaven my humble cry.

as all

2 He took me from the dismal pit,

when founder'd deep in miry clay; On solid ground he plac'd my feet,

and suffer'd not my steps to stray. 3 The wonders he for me has wrought

shall fill my mouth with songs of praise ; And others, to his worship brought,

to hopes of like deliv’rance raise. 4 For blessings shall that man reward,

who on th' Almighty Lord relies; Who treats the proud with disregard,

and hates the hypocrite's disguise. 5. Who can the wondrous works recount

which thou, O God, for us hast wrought? The treasures of thy love surmount

the power of numbers, speech, and thought. 6 I've learnt that thou hast not desir'd

off'rings and sacrifice alone; Nor blood of guiltless beasts requir'd

for man's transgression to atone. 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.

PART II. 9 In full assemblies I have told

thy truth and righteousness at large; Nor did, thou know'st, my lips withhold

from uttering what thou gav'st in charge : 10 Nor kept within my breast confin'd

thy faithfulness and saving grace; But preach'd thy love, for all design'd,

that all might that, and truth, embrace. 11 Then let those mercies I declar'd

to others, Lord, extend to me; Thy loving-kindness my reward,

thy truth my safe protection be. 12 For I with troubles am distress'd,

too numberless for me to bear; Nor less with loads of guilt oppress'd,

that plunge and sink me to despair. As soon, alas !


I recount the hairs of this afflicted head; My vanquish'd courage they surmount, and fill my drooping soul with dread.

PART III. 13 But, Lord, to my relief draw near,

for never was more pressing need; In my deliv'rance, Lord, appear,

and add to that deliv'rance speed.

14 Confusion on their heads return,

who to destroy my soul combine; Let them, defeated, blush and mourn,

ensnar'd in their own vile design. 15 Their doom let desolation be,

with shame their malice be repaid, Who mock'd my confidence in thee,

and sport of my affliction made. 16 While those who humbly seek thy faoe,

to joyful triumphs shall be rais'd; And all who prize thy saving grace,

with me resound, The Lord be prais'd. 17 Thus, wretched though I am and poor,

of me th’ Almighty Lord takes care:
Thou God, who only canst restore,
to my relief with speed repair.

1 APPY the man whose tender care
relieves the

poor distress'd! When troubles compass him around,

the Lord shall give him rest. 2 The Lord his life, with blessings crown'd,

in safety shall prolong; And disappoint the will

of those that seek to do him wrong. 3 If he in languishing estate,

oppress'd with sickness lie; The Lord will easy make his bed,

and inward strength supply. 4 Secure of this, to thee, my God,

I thus my prayer address'd; “Lord, for thy mercy, heal my soul,

" 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? 6 Suppose they formal visits make,

'tis all but empty show; They gather mischief in their hearts,

and vent it where they go. 7, 8 With private whispers, such as these,

to hurt me they devise : A sore disease afflicts him now;

“ he's fall’n, no more to rise.” 9 My own familiar bosom-friend,

on whom I most rely'd, Has me, whose daily guest he was,

with open scorn defy'd. 10 But thou my sad and wretched state,

in mercy, Lord, regard;


And raise me up, that all their crimes

may meet their just reward. 11 By this I know thy gracious ear

is open, when I call; Because thou suffer'st not my foes

to triumph in my fall. 12 Thy tender care secures my

life from danger and disgrace; And thou vouchsaf'st to set me still

before thy glorious face. 13 Let therefore Israel's Lord and God

from age to age be bless'd; And all the people's glad applause with loud Amens express'd.

PSALM XLII. 1 S pants the hart for cooling streams,

when heated in the chase; So longs my soul, O God, for thee,

and thy refreshing grace. 2 For thee, my God, the living God,

my thirsty soul doth pine; 0! when shall I behold thy face,

thou Majesty Divine? 3 Tears are my constant food, while thus

insulting foes upbraid; “ Deluded wretch! where's now thy God?

“and where his promis'd aid ?" 4 I sigh, whene'er my musing thoughts

those happy days present, When I, with troops of pious friends,

thy temple did frequent. When I advanc'd with songs of praise,

my solemn vows to pay, And led the joyful sacred throng,

that kept the festal day. 5 Why restless, why cast down, my soul?

trust God; who will employ His aid for thee, and change these sighs

to thankful hymns of joy. 6 My soul's cast down, o God! but thinks

on thee and Sion still; From Jordan's bank, from Hermon's heights,

and Mizar's humbler hill. 7 One trouble calls another on,

and, gath'ring o'er my head, Fall spouting down, till round my soul

a roaring sea is spread. 8 But when thy presence, Lord of life,

has once dispell’d this storm, To thee I'll midnight anthems sing,

and all my vows perform.

9 God of my strength, how long shall I,

like one forgotten, mourn; Forlorn, forsaken, and expos’d

to my oppressor's scorn? 10 My heart is pierc'd, as with a sword,

while thus my foes upbraid: “ Vain boaster, where is now thy God?

“and where his promis'd aid ?” 11 Why restless, why cast down, my soul?

hope still; and thou shalt sing The praise of him who is thy God, thy health's eternal spring.

PSALM XLIII. 1 UST Judge of heav'n, against my foes

do thou assert my injur'd right; O set me free, my God, from those

that 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 insulting foes oppress? 3 Let me with light and truth be blest;

be these my guides to lead the way, Till on thy holy bill I rest,

and in thy sacred temple pray. 4 Then will I there fresh altars raise

to God, who is my only joy; And well-tun'd harps, with songs of praise,

shall all my grateful hours employ. 5 Why then cast down, my soul? and why

so much oppress'd with anxious care?
On God, thy God, for aid rely,
who will thy ruin'd state repair.


our fathers oft have told
in our
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, Dispeopled by repeated strokes

of thy avenging hand.
3 For not their courage, nor their sword,

to them possession gave;
Nor strength, that from unequal force

their fainting troops could save:
But thy right hand and powerful arm,

whose succour they implor'd;
Thy presence with the chosen race,

who thy great name ador'd.

O LORD, our fathers

oft have told

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