Psalm 14

THe foole, his God in hart denayes;
And, quite corrupt mankinde is growne:
Their walkings are in hatefull waies;
Vpright, or good, there is not one.
The Lord, from heav'n declinde his eye,
And, all the sonns of men he scannd!
That he from thence might search & trie,
Who did him seek, or vnderstand.

But, all of them corrupted were,
All men beside the way are gone,
He saw not one deal justlie there,
Not one man good; oh no, not one,
So bruitish are Transgressors all.
That they like bread my people eat:
On God, (likewise) they never call;
And, therfor is their terror great.

For, God preserves the faithfull seed,
Ev'n them who righteous waies affect;
And, though his Counsel none doth heed,
Yet, God, the poreman will protect.
Would we Gods ayde from Syon had,
Which must his folke, from thraldome bringe!
For, Iacob would therof be glad,
And Isr'el should rejoice & sing.