15 But thou Lord art the God most mild Readiest thy grace to shew, Slow to be angry, and art stil’d 16 O turn to me thy face at length, PSALM LXXXVII 1 Among the boly Mountains high Is bis foundation fast, There Seated in his Sanctuary, His Temple there is plac't. 2 Sions fair Gates the Lord loves more Then all the dwellings faire Of Jacobs Land, though there be store, And all within his care. 3 City of God, most glorious things Óf thee abroad are spoke; 4 I mention Egypt, where proud Kings I mention Babel to my friends, And Tyre with Ethiops utmost ends, 5 But twise that praise shall in our ear This and this man was born in ber, 6 The Lord shall write it in a Scrowle In thee fresh brooks, and soft streams glance PSALM LXXXVIII 1 Lord God that dost me save and keep, 4 Reck'n'd I am with them that pass From life discharg'd and parted quite Dost never more regard, Them from thy band deliver'd o're Deaths hideous house hath barr'd. 6 Thou in the lowest pit profound Where thickest darkness hovers round, 7 Thy wrath from which no shelter saves Full sore doth press on me; Thou break'st upon me all thy waves, 8 Thou dost my friends from me estrange, Me to them odious, for they change, 9 Through sorrow, and affliction great Mine Lord all the day I thee entreat, 10 Wilt thou do wonders on the dead, Shall the deceas'd arise And praise thee from their loathsom bed 11 Shall they thy loving kindness tell 12 In darkness can thy mighty hand 13 But I to thee O Lord do cry E're yet my life be spent, And up to thee my praier doth hie 14 Why wilt thou Lord my soul forsake, And bide thy face from me, 15 That am already bruis'd, and shake While I thy terrors undergo 16 Thy fierce wrath over me doth flow 17 All day they round about me go, Like waves they me persue. 18 Lover and friend thou bast remov'd They fly me now whom I have lov'd, A Collection of Passages translated in the From Of Reformation in England. Ab Constantine, of how much ill was cause DANTE, Inf. XIX. 115. Founded in chast and bumble Poverty, 'Gainst them that rais'd thee dost thou lift thy born, PETRARCA, Son. 108. And to be short, at last bis guid him brings Then past be to a flowry Mountain green, ARIOSTO, Orl. Fur. xxxiv. 80. From Reason of Church Government. When I die, let the Earth be roul'd in flames. From Apology for Smectymnuus. Laughing to teach the truth What binders? as some teachers give to Boys HORACE, Sat. I. 24. |