Psalm 88

LOrd, of whose assisting might,
I was never yet denied;
All the day, & all the night,
I, to thee have call'd & cried:
Now, regard my wofull plight.

Let thine Ear, thy Minde, thine Eyes,
To the dropping, pleading, eryeng;
Of my Teares, my Cause, my Cries,
Grant me, hearing, weighing, eyeng;
For, my soul afflicted lies.

I, to Death am drawing nigh,
And am priz'd as one interred;
Like a strengthles man I lye,
As algeady slaine, and buried:
Free among the dead, am I.

Yea, as one forgot of thee,
(Or, as from thy hand Abiected)
Darksome pitts, my lodging be,
And in Dungeons deep afflicted,
Thy strict hand oppresseth mee.

All thy, wayes I doe sustaine,
Thou dost make my Lovers flee mee; Selah.
And my freinds fro me restarine:
Shutt I am, where none cann free me,
Then, how cann I tears refraine?

Lord, my greefs to thee I showe,
With my hands to thee vp-raised.
Cann the dead thy wonders knowe?
Or thy Love or truth be praised,
By the Sonns of Death belowe? Selah,

Cann, thy Marvailes, they vnfold,
Who in darknes, quite are blinded?
Or thy Ius;tice, there be tolde,
Where, is nothing said or minded,
Which was done in times of olde.

Vnto thee, oh Lord I crie,
And, my suites prevent the Morninge;
Oh! why dost thou cast me by?
Still fro mee thy presence turninge,
Who am greev'd, & like to dy?

Fro my youth oh Lord, till now,
Mee, thy terror hath destressed,
Nigh distract, it makes me grow;
For, thy wrath hath mee oppressed,
And, thy feares have brought me lowe,

They, besett me ev'rie day,
Floud-like, flowing alltogether;
And no freinds, to help me, stay
(Lovers, nor Familiers neither)
For, thou driv'st them all away.

Another of the same.
LOrd God, my healper! day & night,
To thee my moanings are:
Admit my suites vnto thy sight,
And, my complainings hear.
For, in my soul, great sorrowes be,
My life drawes nigh the grave,
As one inter'd, they count of mee,
And, litle strength I have.

As hee, that's dead, & buried long,
Death's free-man I became;
As one, out of thy presence flung,
I quite forgotten am.
Thou laidst mee in the lowest ward,
Where darksome Dungeons are:
On mee thine Anger presseth hard;
And, all thy stormes I bear. Selah.

Thou hast my freinds fro me restraind,
My Lovers, mee despize;
I, fast in prison am detain'd
And, sorrow dimms mine eyes.
Oh Lord! all day to thee I sue,
My hands, I meekly raise:
Thy wonders, cann men buried shewe?
Or, wake to sing thy praise? Selah.

Lord, cann the grave thy Love expresse?
Thy Faith, cann ruines teach?
Thy wonders, or thy righteousnes,
Cann dumb Oblivion preach?
Betimes, oh Lord, I will erect,
My suites & cries to thee;
Why shouldst thou then, my soul reject,
And, hide thy face fro mee?

My soul is pain'd ev'n to the death;
And all my life I bear,
The heavy burthens of thy wrath,
Thy terrors, & thy fear.
They clos'd mee round, like waters deep,
Where, whilst begirt I lay
Fro me, my Lovers thou didst keep,
And hidst my freinds away.