Psalm 17

Lord, grant my just Request; O heare my crie,
And Pray'rs that lips, untoucht with guile, unfold!
My Cause before thy High Tribunall try,
And let thine Eyes my Righteoussnesse behold.

Thou prov'st my Heart even in the Nights recesse,
Like mettall try'st me, yet no Drosse hast found:
I am resolv'd, my Tongue shall not transgresse;
But on thy Word will all my Actions ground.

So shall I from the Paths of Tyrants flie:
O, lest I slip, direct my Steps by Thine!
I Thee invoke; for thou wilt heare my Crie:
Thine Eare to my afflicted Voice incline.

O shew thy wondrous Love! Thou from their Foes
Preservest all that on thy Ayd depend.
Lord, as the Apple of the Eye inclose,
And over me thy shadie Wings extend.

For Impious men, and such as deadly hate
My guiltlesse Soule, have compast me about;
Who swell with Pride, inclos'd with their owne fat,
And words of contumely thunder out.

Our traced steps intrap as in a Toile;
Low-couched on the Earth with flaming Eyes;
Like famisht Lions eager of their Spoile,
Or Lions Whelpes; close lurking to surprise.

Arise! prevent him, from his Glory hurl'd;
My pensive Soule, from the Devourer save:
From Men which are thy scourge, Men of the World,
Who in this Life alone their Portion have.

Fill'd with thy secret Treasure, to their Race
They their accumulated Riches leave:
But I with Righteousnesse shall see thy Face;
And rising, in thy Image, joy receive.