Psalm 61 (Exaudi, Deus)

To thee I cry,
My crying heare.
To thee my praying voice doth fly:
Lord, lend my voice a listning eare,
From country banished,
All comfort vanished,
To thee I run when stormes are nigh.

Up to thy hill,
Lord, make me clyme;
Which else to scale exceeds my skill:
For in my most distressed tyme
Thy eye attended me,
Thy hand defended me.
Against my foe, my fortresse still.

Then where a tent
For thee is made,
To harbor still is my entent:
And to thy wings protecting shade
My self I carry will,
And there I tarry will,
Safe from all shot against me bent.

What first I crave
First graunt to me,
That I the roiall rule may have
Of such as feare and honor thee:
Let yeares as manifold,
As can be any told,
Thy king, O God, keepe from the grave.

Before thy face
Graunt ever he
Maie sitt, and lett thy truth and grace
His endless guard appointed be.
Then singing pleasantly,
Praising uncessantly,
I dayly vowes will pay to thee.