Psalm 142

WIth voice, with voice, & cries devout,
To God the Lord I made request:
Before him my complaint powr'd out,
I shew'd the Lord my case distrest.
My spirit overwhelm'd and spent,
My private path was known to thee:
Ev'n in the way wherein I went,
They laid a secret snare for me.
On my right hand I lookt and star'd,
But there was no man would me know:
For my poor soul no creature car'd,
All refuge fail'd of things below.
I cri'd to thee, ô Lord, I sayd,
Among the living in the land,
Thou art my portion, and my ayd,
And all the help I have at hand.
Attend unto my earnest sute,
For I am brought exceeding low:
Save me from them that persecute,
Too hard for me, too strong a fo.
My soul from prison Lord bring out,
That I may render praise to thee:
The just shall compass me about,
When thou dealst bounteously with me.