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Whatever thing is good,
. 50 Our land shall forth in plenty throw
Her fruits to be our food.
His royal harbinger,
PSA L. LXXXVI.
T O hear me I thee pray, For I am poor, and almost pine
With need, and sad decay. 2 Preserve my soul, for + I have trod
Thy ways, and love the just, Save thou thy servant, O my God,
Who still in thee doth trust.
I call; 4. O make rejoice
I lift my soul and voice.
To pardon, thou to all
15 To them that on thee call. 6 Unto my supplication, Lord,
Give * Heb. He will set his steps to the way. + Heb. I am good, loving, a doer of good and holy things.
Give ear, and to the cry Of my incessant pray’rs afford
Thy hearing graciously.
Will call on thee for aid;
And answer what I pray’d.
O Lord, nor any works
Like to thy glorious works.
Shall come, and all fall frame
And glorify thy name.
By thy strong hand are done, Thou in thy everlasting seat
Remainest God alone.
I in thy truth will bide,
So shall it never side.
Thee honor and adore
Thy name for evermore.
And thou hast freed my soul, Ev’n from the lowest Hell set free,
From deepest darkness foul.
And violent men are met
No fear of thee have set.
Most merciful, most true.
And me have mercy on,
And save thy handmaid's son.
And let my foes then see,
P S A L. LXXXVII.
01 Is his foundation faft, There seated is his sanctuary,
His temple there is plac'd.
Than all the dwellings fair
And And all within his care, 3 City of God, most glorious things Of thee abroad are spoke;
10 4 I mention Egypt, where proud king's
Did our forefathers yoke,
Philistia full of scorn,
Lo this man there was born:
Be said of Sion last,
High God shall fix her fast.
That ne'er shall be out-worn, When he the nations doth inroll,
That this man there was born. 7 Both they who fing, and they who dance, · 25
With sacred songs are there,
PSA L. LXXXVIII.
L All day to thee I cry; . And all night long before thee weep,
Before thee prostrate lie. 2 Into thy presence let my pray'r
With fighs devout ascend,
Thine ear with favor bend.
Surcharg'd my soul doth lie, My life at death's unchear ful door
Unto the grave draws nigh.
Down to the dismal pit,
| Heb. A man without manly strength. 5 From life discharg'd and parted quite
Among the dead to sleep, And like the slain in bloody fight
That in the grave lie deep.
Dost never more regard,
Death's hideous house hath barr’d.
25 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; Ş Thou break’st upon me all thy waves, ☆ And all thy waves break me. ŞThe Heb. bears both.