Psalm LXXXVIII

O God, who art my hope and help,
To thee I cryed night and day.

Let my cries have access to thee,
Incline thine ear when I do pray.

My soul with troubles doth abound,
My life draws nigh unto the grave.

Like one that to be buryed goes,
I am as those that no strength have.

As a companion of the dead,
Like those that slain in grave do lye;
Whom thou hast cut off by thy hand,
And dost put out their memory.

Thou lay'st me in the lowest pit,
And as in deep and darksom caves;

Thy wrath lyes hard on me, and thou
Afflictest me with all thy waves.

My friends thou hast put far from me,
To them as burdensome I grow;
In sorrows I am so shut up,
That forth from thence I cannot go.

My eye through my affliction mourns,
I call on thee from day to day;
To thee, O Lord, I have stretch'd out
My craving hands; to thee I pray.

Wilt thou shew wonders to the dead?
Shall the dead rise and praise thee here?

Is thy love praised in the grave?
Doth death thy faithfulness declare?

Are thy great works known in the dark?
Or is thy truth and righteousness
Remembred and mention'd in
The land of deep forgetfulness?

But unto thee, O Lord, I cry,
My morning's pray'r shall thee prevent.

Lord why dost thou cast off my soul?
Why is thy face against me bent?

Even from my early youth I was
Afflicted, and as near to die;
While I thy terrors do endure
I almost as distracted lie.

Thy fierce wrath goeth over me,
Thy terrors kill and cast me out:

Like floods they daily on me come,
Gather and compass me about.

My dearest friends that did me love,
Thou hast removed far from me;
Those that my old acquaintance were
Into the dark are cast by thee.