Psalm 88

My Saviour! both by night and day
To Thee I pray.
O let my Cries transcend the Sphears,
And pierce thy Eares!
Lest Sorrow stop my fainting breath;
Now neare the Jawes of greedy Death.

My light extinguisht, numbered
Among the Dead:
Like men in battaile slaine; the wombe
Of Earth their Tombe:
Forgotten, as if never known;
By thy tempestuous Wrath o'rethrown.

By Thee lodg'd in the lower Deeps,
Where Horrour keeps;
In Dungeons, where no Sun displaies
His cheerfull Raies.
Crusht by thy Wrath; on me thy Waves
Rush, like so many rolling Graves.

My old Familiars, now my Foes,
Deride my Woes.
My House becomes my Gaole; where I
In Fetters lie.
Blind with my teares; with crying hoarse;
Hands rais'd in vaine; a walking Coarse.

Wilt thou to those thy Wonders show,
Who sleep below?
The Dead from their cold Mansions raise,
To sing thy Praise?
Shall Mercy find us in the Grave?
Or wilt thou in Destruction save?

Wilt thou thy Wonders bring to light,
In Deaths long Night?
Or shall thy Justice there be shown,
Where none are known?
I have, and still to Thee will pray;
Before the Sun restore the Day.

O, why hast thou withdrawn thy Grace,
And hid thy Face;
From me, who from my Infancy
But daily die?
Whil'st I thy Terrours undergoe;
Distracted by these stormes of woe.

Thy Anger, like a Gulph, devoures
My trembling Powers:
With troups of Terrours circled round;
In Sorrow drown'd;
Depriv'd of those, that lov'd me most;
To all in dark oblivion lost.