Psalm 143

Lord, to my cries afford an eare,
Th'afflicted heare;
According to thy Equity,
And Truth reply;
Nor prove severe: for in thy sight
None living shall be found upright.

The Foe my Soule besiegeth round,
Strikes to the ground:
In darknesse hath inveloped,
Like men long dead:
My mind with sorrow overthrowne;
My heart within me stupid growne.

I call to minde those ancient Daies
Fill'd with thy praise:
Thy Works alone possesse my thought,
With wonder wrought.
To thee I stretch my zealous Hand;
Desir'd like raine by thirsty land.

Approach with speed; my Spirits faile;
Thy Face unveile:
Least I forthwith grow like to those,
Whom graves inclose.
O let me of thy Mercy heare,
Before the morning Sun appeare.

My God, thou art the onely scope
Of all my hope:
O shew me thy prescribed way,
Lest I should stray.
For to thy Throne I raise mine eyes;
My Soule, and all my faculties.

Save from my Foes: to Thee loe I
For refuge flie:
Informe me, that I may fulfill
Thy sacred Will.
My God, let thy good Spirit lead,
That in thy paths my Feet may tread.

O for thy Honour quicken me,
Who trust in Thee:
Out of these Straights, for Justice sake,
Thy Servant take.
In mercy cut Thou off my Foes,
Whose hate hath multipli'd my woes.