Psalm 71 (In te, Domine, speravi)

Lord, on thee my trust is grounded:
Leave me not with shame confounded;
But in justice bring me aide.
Lett thine eare to me be bended:
Lett my life, from death defended,
Be by thee in safety staid.

Be my rock, my refuge tower,
Show thy unresisted power,
Working now thy wonted will:
Thou, I say, that never fainest
In thy biddings, but remainest
Still my rock, my refuge still.

O my God, my sole help-giver,
From the wicked me delyver,
From this wrongfull spightfull man:
In thee trusting, on thee standing,
With my childish understanding,
Nay, with life my hopes began.

Since imprison'd in my mother
Thou me freed'st, whom have I other
Held my stay, or made my song?
Yea, when all me so misdeemed,
I to most a monster seemed,
Yet in thee my hope was strong.

Yet of thee, the thankfull story
Filld my mouth, thy gratious glory
Was my ditty long the day.
Do not then, now age assaileth,
Courage, verdure, vertue faileth,
Do not leave me cast away.

They by whom my life is hated,
With their spies have now debated,
Of their talk, and lo, the summe:
God, say they, hath hym forsaken,
Now pursue, he must be taken,
None will to his rescue come.

O my God, bee not absented:
O my God, now, now, presented,
Let in haste thy succours be:
Make them fall disgraced, shamed,
All dissmighted, all diffamed,
Who this ill intend to me.

As for me, resolv'd to tary
In my trust, and not to vary,
I will heape thy praise with praise:
Still with mouth thy truthes recounting,
Still thy aides, though much surmounting,
Greatest sum that number laies.

Nay, my God, by thee secured,
Where will I not march assured?
In my talke who just but thou?
Who by thee from infant cradle
Taught still more, as still more able,
Have thy wonders spread till now.

Now that age hath me attainted,
Ages snow my head hath painted,
Leave me not, my God, forlorn.
Let me make thy mights relation
To the coming generation,
To the age as yet unborn.

God, thy justice, highest raised,
Thy greate workes, as highly praised:
Who thy peere, O God, doth raign?
Thou into these woes dost drive me:
Thou againe shall thence revive me:
Lift me from this deepe againe.

Thou shalt make my greatnes greater,
Make my. good with comfort better,
Thee my lute, my harpe shall sing:
Thee my God, that never slidest
From thy word, but constant bidest,
Jacobs holy heav'nly king.

So my lips all joy declaring,
So my soule no honor sparing,
Shall thee sing, by thee secure.
So my tongue, all tymes, all places,
Tell thy wreakes and their disgraces,
Who this ill to me procure.