Psalm 30 (Exaltabo te, Domine)

O Lord, thou hast exalted me,
And sav'd me from foes laughing scorn:
I owe thee praise, I will praise thee.

For when my hart with woes was torn,
In cries to thee, I shew'd my cause:
And was from ev'l by thee upborne.

Yea, from the graves moist hungry jawes
Thou would'st not sett me in their score,
Whom death to his cold boosome drawes.

Praise, praise this Lord then evermore,
Ye saints of his, remembring still
With thancks his holinesse therefore.

For quickly endes his wrathfull will,
But his deere favour where it lies,
From age to age life joyes doth fill.

Well may the evening cloath the eies
In cloudes of teares, but soone as sunne
Doth rise againe, new joyes shall rise.

For proof, while I my race did runne,
Full of successe, fond I did say,
That I should never be undone,

For then my hill, good God, did stay:
But ay, he straight his face did hide,
And what was I but wretched clay?

Then thus to thee I prayeng cride,
What serves, alas, the blood of me
When I within the pitt doe bide?

Shall ever earth give thancks to thee?
Or shall thy truth on mannkind laid
In deadly dust declared be?

Lord, heare, lett mercy thine be staid
On me, from me helpe this annoy.
This much I said, this beeing said,

Lo, I that wail'd, now daunce for joy:
Thou did'st ungird my dolefull sack,
And mad'st me gladsome weedes enjoy.

Therefore my tongue shall never lack
Thy endless praise: O God, my king,
I will thee thancks for ever sing.