Psalm 144 (Benedictus Dominus)

Prais'd bee the Lord of might,
My rock in all allarms,
By whom my hands doe fight,
My fingers manage armes.
My grace, my guard, my fort,
On whom my safety staies:
To whom my hopes resort,
By whom my realme obaies.

Lord, what is man that thou
Should'st tender soe his fare?
What hath his child to bow
Thy thoughts unto his care?
Whose neerest kinn is nought,
No image of whose daies
More lively can bee thought,
Then shade that never staies.

Lord, bend thy arched skies
With ease to let thee down,
And make the stormes arise
From mountaines fuming crown.
Let follow flames from sky,
To back their stoutest stand:
Lett fast thy arrowes fly,
Dispersing thickest band.

Thy heav'nly helpe extend
And lift me from this flood:
Let mee thy hand defend
From hand of forraine brood,
Whose mouth no mouth at all,
But forge of false entent,
Wherto their hand doth fall
As aptest instrument.

Then in new song to thee
Will I exalt my voice:
Then shall O God with me
My tenn-string'd lute rejoyce.
Rejoyce in him, I say,
Who roiall right preserves,
And saves from swords decay
His David that him serves.

O Lord thy help extend,
And lift mee from this flood:
Lett me thy hand defend
From hand of forrain brood.
Whose mouth no mouth at all,
But forge of false entent,
Whereto their hand doth fall
As aptest instrument.

Soe then our sonnes shall grow
As plants of timely spring,
Whom soone to fairest show
Their happy growth doth bring.
As pillers both doe beare
And garnish kingly hall:
Our daughters straight and faire,
Each howse embellish shall,

Our store shall ay bee full,
Yea shall such fullness finde,
Though all from thence wee pull,
Yet more shall rest behind.
The millions of encrease
Shall breake the wonted fold:
Yea such the sheepy prease,
The streetes shall scantly hold.

Our hoards shall brave the best,
Abroad no foes alarme,
At home to breake our rest,
No cry the voice of harme.
If blessed tearme I may,
On whom such blessings fall;
Then blessed, blessed they
Their God Jehovah call.