Psalm 63

OH God! my God thou allwaies art;
For thee, betimes, I seeking pant,
With longing soul, & thirsting hart,
Ev'n as the land, which raine doth want.
Yea, Lord, my soul doth long, full sore,
Thy powre & glorie to behold,
As I have seene them heretofore,
Ev'n in thy holie-place of olde.

For why! thy love doth life surpasse;
And, I therfore will sing thy praise:
Thy Name, I'le all my lifetime blesse,
And, vnto thee my hands I'le raise.
For, when I minde thee on my bed,
And muze upon thee in the Night;
It fills me, as with marrowe fedd;
And I with ioye thy praise recite.

Since, me thou healp'st in my destresse;
Beneath thy wings I gladd remaine,
My Soul, to thee doth closelie presse;
And, thy Righthand shall mee sustaine.
But, they shal to their grave descend,
Whose purpose is my soul to slay:
The Sword shall bring them to their end,
And, they shall be the foxes prey.

The king, & they who swear, in truth,
By God's great Name; in God shall ioy:
But, he shall stop the liers mouth,
And, ev'rie perjur'd soul destroy.