Psalm 22

My God! ô why hast thou forsooke!
Why, ô so far, with-drawne thine Aid!
Nor when I roared, pity tooke!
My God, by day to Thee I pray'd,
And when Nights Curtaines were displaid:
Yet wouldst not Thou vouchsafe a looke.

Yet thou art holy; thron'd on high;
The Israelites thy Praise resound.
Our Fathers did on thee relye;
Their Faith with wreaths of Conquest crown'd:
They sought, and thy Deliverance found;
They trusted, and thy Truth did trie.

But I, a worme, no man, am made
The scorne of men; despis'd by all:
Who shake their Heads, make mouths, upbraid.
Let God, say they, redeeme from thrall,
On whom thy Hopes so vainely call:
Now let him his Beloved aid.

Thou drew'st me from the wombe; by Thee
Confirmed at my Mothers breast:
When borne, Thou took'st the charge of me;
Even from my Birth, my God profest.
O succour me with feare distrest!
Thou canst alone thy Servant free.

Incensed Bulls about me stare;
Strong Buls of Bashan girt me round:
Who their inflamed mouths prepare,
Like ravenous Lions, to confound.
I'm spilt like water on the ground;
And all my Bones disjointed are.

My Heart like Wax within me thawes;
My vigour as a Pot-sheared dry'd:
My thirstie Tongue cleaves to my jawes;
In dust of Death thou do'st me hide:
Dogs compasse me on every side;
And multitudes, who hate thy Lawes.

My hands and Feet transfixed are;
Bones, to be told, with anguish waste:
This seene with joy, my robes they share;
Lots on my seamlesse garment cast.
My Strength, to my redemption haste!
Nor ô be deafe to my sad praier!

Let not the Sword thy Servant wound;
My Dearling from the Dog protect:
From Lions that in rage abound;
From Unicornes guard thy Elect.
I then my Brethren will direct;
Among the Saints thy Praise resound.

O praise him you who feare the Lord;
You Sons of Jacob, God adore:
Let Israels Seed his praise record;
For from their cryes who helpe implore,
His Face he hides not, nor the Poore
In their Affliction hath abhorr'd.

I in the great Assembly shall
Declare his Works, which words exceed;
And pay my Vowes before them all.
The Meeke abundantly shall feed;
The Faithfull praise their Helpe at need,
Nor by the stroke of Death shall fall.

All who behold the Suns Vp-rise,
Shall God professe, and serve alone:
And all the Heathen Families
Shall cast themselves before his Throne;
Because the Kingdome is his owne:
For over all his Empire lies.

Who in prosperity abound,
Nor undeserved Honours gaine;
Who poorely creepe upon the ground,
And scarce their needy lives susteine;
Shall eat, and to his easie reigne
Submit, with joyes eternall crown'd.

Their sanctifi'd Posteritie
Shall ever celebrate his Name;
Adopted Sons of the most High:
They shall his Righteousnesse proclame,
And Works of everlasting fame,
To their believing Progeny.