Psalm 144

O Blessed be the LORD my might,
Who, in the war-like field,
My hands and fingers taught to fight:
My goodness, Saviour, Shield.
My fort, high towr, in whom I trust,
My people that subdues:
Oh what is man that LORD thou doest
Such poor acquaintance chuse!
Or what is mans posteritie,
Whereof such reckoning's made?
Sure man is like to vanitie,
His dayes as fleeting shade.
LORD bow the heavens, & come down,
Toucht mountains make to smoke:
Destroy thy foes with angry frown,
By dreadfull lightnings stroke.
Destroy them with thy bended bow:
Send help my soul to save:
Send thy high hand, rid, save me so
From swallowing waters grave.
Even from the hands of children strange,
Whose mouths of folly treat:
And their right hand's a meer exchange
Of falshood and deceit.
My songs on Psaltery I'l present
To thee compos'd anew:
And on a ten-string'd instrument,
Will sing thy praises due.
Tis he that unto Kings extends
Salvations welcome pledge:
His servant David he defends,
From swords offensive edge.

2. Part.
RElease and rid me speedily
From hand of sinners vile:
Whose subtle mouth speaks vanitie,
Their right hand full of guile.
Our sons as plants in youth up grown,
And daughters, to us born,
Let be as some carv'd corner-stone,
Fair palace to adorn.
Our garners full as they can hold,
With ev'ry kind of thing:
Our sheep a thousand thousand fold,
Within our streets may bring.
Our Oxen not in labour faint,
No en'mie to invade:
No leading captive, no complaint
Within our streets be made.
O blessed people would we say,
With such like blessings stor'd:
O rather blessed people they
Whose God is God the Lord.