Psalm 63 (Deus, Deus meus)

O God, the God where all my forces ly,
How doe I hunt for thee with early haste!
How is for thee my spirit thirsty dry!
How gaspes my soule for thy refreshing taste!
Witnesse this waterlesse, this weary waste:
Whence, O that I againe transfer'd might be,
Thy glorious might in sacred place to see.

Then on thy praise would I my lipps employ,
With whose kind mercies nothing may contend;
No, not this life it self, whose care and joy
In prayeng voice, and lifted hands should end.
This to my soule should such a banquet send,
That sweetly fed my mouth should sing thy name
In gladdest notes contented mirth could frame.

And lo, ev'n here I mind thee in my bed,
And interrupt my sleepes with nightly thought,
How thou hast been the target of my head,
How thy wings shadow hath my safety wrought.
And though my body from thy view be brought,
Yet fixt on thee my loving soule remaines,
Whose right right hand from falling me retaines.

But such as seeke my life to ruinate,
Them shall the earth in deepest gulph receave.
First murdring blade shall end their living date,
And then their flesh to teeth of foxes leave.
As for the king, the king shall then conceave
High joy in God, and all that God adore,
When lying mouthes, shall stopped, lye no more.