Psalm 92

RIght good it is, oh Lord, most hye!
Thy praises to recite,
Thy Truth & Love to magnifie,
At morning, & at night.
With tenn-string'd Instruments to sing,
The praises of thy Name;
And, that wee harpes, & Psalt'ries bring,
To solemnize the same.

For, Lord, thy works reioice my hart,
Thy Deeds, my soul do chear:
How wonderfull in them thou are!
How deep thy muzings are!
The Foole & Wordling, nether knowe,
Nor heed such things at all,
And, though like flowrs, the wicked showe,
Their prospring, proves their fall.

But, Lord, thou allwaies art most hye;
Mark, therfor; Mark I pray,
How sinnfull men despersed flye,
And, how thy foes decay.
My horne, the Vnicorne's o're-topps;
Sweet-oyle is pourd on me;
And, on my Foes, my wished hopes,
I shall both hear, & see

The Iust, shall flourish as the boughs
Of Palmes & Cedars do;
Or, as the trees which round God's house,
Within his Courts do growe.
Yea, they when age on them doth light,
Growe fruitfull, fatt, & greene;
To prove the Lord my Rock, vpright
And blameles, to have beene.