Psalm 69

Lord, snatch me from the raging Floud;
Now in deepe Eddies almost drown'd:
That struggle in the yeelding mud,
There, where no bottome can be found:
The rising waves my head surround,
And with their terrors chill my Bloud.

Tir'd with complaining; hoarse, and sore;
Sight failes my long-expecting Eyes:
My Haires are not in number more;
Then my uninjur'd Enemies.
The great in wrong against me rise;
I, what I never tooke, restore.

My God, Thou know'st my Innocence:
Let not the faithfull blush for me,
Traduc'd by slanderous Impudence:
Nor ô! let those that call on Thee,
Their shame in my Confusion see;
Since Thou art our profest Defence.

For Thee I suffer Calumnies;
To Men become a generall scorne;
Deserted by my neare Allies;
By children of my Mother borne:
Through zeale unto thy Honour worne,
While thy reproch upon me lies.

I fasted, wept, in Sack-cloth mourn'd;
My anguish in my lookes exprest:
Yet this to my derision turn'd;
By Drunkards sung at every Feast:
Even Judges at my sorrow jest;
My Innocence by slander spurn'd.

Yet shall my Praiers and Sighes ascend
Even in an acceptable houre.
Thy Mercie, gracious Lord, extend;
And save by thy Almightie Power.
Let not the swallowing mud devoure:
Preserve from such a shamefull end.

Deliver from th'insulting Foe;
My strugling Feet from sinking keepe:
Let not the Billowes overflow,
Nor Whirle-pits sucke into their Deepe.
O pitie Thou the Eies that weepe:
And thy Transcendent Mercie show.

Heare, and redeeme without delay;
Nor in my trouble hide thy Face:
Lest I become a wretched prey
To such as have my Soule in chase.
My shame, indignities, disgrace
And all their crimes before Thee lay.

Reproach my bleeding heart hath pierc't:
Was ever Sorrow halfe so great!
Compassion hath her Eyes averst;
My Griefe no comfort could intreat:
They gave me bitter Gall to eate;
And Vineger to quench my Thirst.

O be their board a snare to those!
Prosperitie it selfe a Bait!
Their Eyes in clouds of darkenesse close;
And let them fall by their owne weight:
Powre on them thy Eternall hate;
With vengeance multiply their woes.

In Ruines let their Houses lie;
None in their silent Tents be found;
That would, whom thou hast smit, destroy;
And wounded Soules with slander wound.
Let their iniquities abound;
Nor ever in thy Mercie joy.

Their names out of thy Volume blot;
Nor with the Just inthrone their Dayes.
Though poore; to misery begot;
Yet Thoushalt my dejection raise:
Then will I celebrate thy Praise:
My thankefull Heart no time shall spot.

This will Jehovah more delight,
Then Buls prepar'd for Sacrifice:
Their guilded Hornes with Garlands dight.
This shall the Meeke with pleased Eyes
Behold, and centuple their joyes:
Their Day shall never set in Night.

For God the Poore regards, and those,
Who for his sake affliction trie.
Round Earth, deepe Seas, what Seas inclose;
You Orbs, that move so orderly;
Our great Jehovah magnifie,
Who crownes his Saints with sweet Repose.

For God his Sion shall immure,
And Judah's Cities build againe:
Where they shall ever live secure;
A faire inheritance obtaine:
There shall their blessed Seed remaine;
And safely that rich Soile manure.