Psalm 52 (Quid gloriaris?)

Tyrant, why swel'st thou thus,
Of mischief vaunting?
Since helpe from God to us
Is never wanting.

Lewd lies thy tongue contrives,
Lowd lies it soundeth:
Sharper then sharpest knives
With lies it woundeth.

Falshood thy witt approves,
All truth rejected;
Thy will all vices loves,
Vertue neglected.

Not wordes from cursed thee,
But gulfes are powred.
Gulfes wherin daily bee
Good men devoured.

Think'st thou to beare it soe?
God shall displace thee.
God shall thee overthrow,
Crush thee, deface thee.

The just shall fearing see
These fearefull chaunces:
And laughing shoote at thee
With scornfull glances.

Loe, loe, the wretched wight,
Who God disdaining,
His mischief made his might,
His guard his gaining.

I, as an olive tree
Still green shall flourish;
Gods house the soile shall bee
My rootes to nourish.

My trust on his true love
Truly attending,
Shall never thence remove,
Never see ending.

Thee will I honor still
Lord for this justice:
There fix my hopes I will
Where thy saints trust is.

Thy saints trust in thy name,
Therin they joy them:
Protected by the same,
Nought can annoy them.