Psalm 55

Lord, to my Prayers incline thine Eare;
Th'afflicted heare:
Nor be thou Deafe to my complaint,
For O I faint!
Regard the sighes, the grones, the cries,
Which from my pensive Soule arise.

Rais'd by the threatnings of my Foe,
Which storme-like grow;
And by blood-thirsty Violence;
Truth my offence:
Who slander with their wounding tongues,
And presse me unto Death with wrongs.

My heart, a stranger unto rest,
Throbs in my breast:
The terrours of approching Death
Exhaust my breath.
My sinews trembling Feare dissolves,
And Horror all my Powers involves.

O that with Dove-like wings I might
Take my swift flight,
To calme Retreats of rest, where I
Conceal'd might lie!
Then would I finde some Wildernesse,
Removed farre from mans accesse.

Then all these Tempests, which arise
With hideous noise;
And with their dreadfull Tumults make
My Heart to quake;
I would, far swifter then the Wind,
Or winged Lightnings leave behind.

Lord, swallow those, who swell with pride;
Their Tongues divide:
For Strife, and Violence, bent to kill,
The City fill:
Both Day and Night they walke the Round,
Rape, Mischiefe, Teares, within abound.

Wild Outrages her streets profane,
And boldly Reigne:
Fraud lurking in her Palaces,
Conspires with these.
For I, had he his hate profest,
Had shunn'd, or should his wrongs digest.

But thou, my Friend, even of my Heart
The better Part;
To so intire a union growne,
As if but one:
Gods House we daily visited,
Both sweetly by one Counsell led.

Let Death devoure them; let them dive
To Hell alive.
With mischiefe their proud roofes abound
Their hearts unsound:
But God my Soule shall dis-enthrall;
For I upon his Name will call.

My prayers shall with the Suns up rise,
Ascend the Skies;
Renew'd, when he at Noone displayes
His fervent Rayes;
When he behinde the Earth descends,
And Day, out-worne with labour, ends.

My Cries shall penetrate the Spheares,
And pierce his Eares.
He shall my captive Soule release,
And crowne with Peace.
For in the Fervor of the Fight,
His Angels shall protect my Right.

Th'Eternall Judge, Jehovah, shall
Confound them all;
Who onely change from bad to worse,
Nor feare his Curse.
Sweet Peace he violated hath,
And broken his obliged Faith.

His Words then Butter smoother farre;
His Thoughts of Warre:
Words softer then the fluent Oile;
Yet bent to Spoyle.
But thou, my Soule, thy cares impose
On God, who will redresse thy woes.

The Just he shall confirme with Joy;
Th'Unjust destroy.
Those who in bloud and fraud delight,
Shall set in Night,
Before their Noone of Life be past.
But I on God my hopes have plac'd.