14 O God, the proud against me rise, To seek my life, and in their eyes 15 But thou, Lord, art the God most mild, 16 0, turn to me thy face at length, 17 Some sign of good to me afford, And be asham'd; because thou, Lord, PSALM LXXXVII. 1 AMONG the holy mountains high 2 Sion's fair gates the Lord loves more Than all the dwellings fair Of Jacob's land, though there be store, 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, And Tyre with Ethiop's utmost ends, 5 But twice that praise shall in our ear This and this man was born in her; 6 The Lord shall write it in a scroll 7 Both they who sing, and they who dance, With sacred songs are there; In thee fresh brooks and soft streams glance, And all my fountains clear. PSALM LXXXVIII. 1 LORD God, that dost me save and keep, And all night long before thee weep, 2 Into thy presence let my prayer And to my cries, that ceaseless are, 3 For, cloy'd with woes and trouble store, 4 Reckon'd I am with them that I am a man, but weak, alas! pass 5 From life discharg'd and parted quite Among the dead to sleep; And like the slain in bloody fight, Whom thou rememberest no more, Them, from thy hand deliver'd o'er, 6 Thou in the lowest pit profound Hast set me all forlorn, Where thickest darkness hovers round, In horrid deeps to mourn. 7 Thy wrath, from which no shelter saves, Full sore doth press on me; Thou break'st upon me all thy waves, R 8 Thou dost my friends from me estrange, And mak'st me odious, Me to them odious, for they change, 9 Through sorrow, and affliction great, 10 Wilt thou do wonders on the dead? And praise thee from their loathsome bed 11 Shall they thy loving-kindness tell, 12 In darkness can thy mighty hand 13 But I to thee, O Lord, do cry, And up to thee my prayer doth hie, 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 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, They fly me now whom I have lov'd, 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, |