Psalm 95

TO God our Saviour, lett's renewe
Our songs, with chearfull voice,
Our thanckfulnes before him shewe;
With Psalmes, in him rejoice.
For, God, the Lord most powrfull is,
The King of Gods is hee;
The earth's obscurest vales are his,
And, his, high mountaines be.

The seas, he made; they are his owne:
Drie land, his Creature was;
Come, serve him then, & fall wee downe,
Before our Makers face.
He is our God, his flock wee are,
His pasture-sheep, are wee:
That, you his voice, may therfor heare,
More tender-harted be.

Not like your Fathers, when that in
The Desert, proov'd they were;
And tempted him, though they had seene,
His works of wonder, there.
Full forty years, they moov'd his wrath,
And, therfor, thus sayd hee;
A wandring hart, this people hath,
My waies, they will see.

And, I to them, in my iust rage,
Did by mine Oath protest;
That, none of all that froward age,
Should come within my rest.