Psalm 31 (In te, Domine, speravi)

All, all my trust, Lord, I have putt in thee,
Never, therefore, lett me confounded be,
But gentlie save me in thy righteousnes.
Bow down thine eare, to heare how much I need;
Deliver me, deliver me in speed:
Bee my strong rock, be thou my fortresse.

In deede thou art my rock and my fortresse:
Then since my tongue delights that name to blesse,
Direct me how to goe, and guide me right.
Preserve me from the wyly wrapping nett,
Which they for me with privie craft have sett:
For still I say, thou art my only might.

Into thy handes I doe commend my sprite:
For it is thou that hast restored my light:
O Lord, that art the God of veritie.
I hated have those men, whose thoughtes do cleave
To vanities: which most trust, most deceave:
For all my hope fixt upon God doth lie.

Thy mercy shall fill me with jollity,
For my annoies have come before thine eye:
Thou well hast known what plague my soule was in.
And thou hast not for ay enclosed me
Within the hand of hatefull enmity:
But hast enlarg'd my feete from mortall ginne.

O Lord, of thee, lett me still mercy wynne;
For troubles, of all sides, have hemm'd me in:
My eyes, my guts, yea my soule, grief doth wast,
My life with heavines, my yeares with moane,
Doe pine: my strength with paine is wholie gone:
And ev'n my bones consume, where they be plast.

All my fierce foes reproach on me did cast:
Yea neighbours, more, my mates were so agast,
That in the streetes from sight of me they fledd:
Now I, now I, my self forgotten find,
Even like a dead man, dreamed out of mind,
Or like a broken pott, in myre that's tredd.

I understand what railing greate men spredd:
Feare was each where, while they their councells ledd
All to this pointe, how my poore life to take;
But I did trust in thee. Lord, I did say,
Thou art my God, my time on thee doth stay:
Save me from foes, who for my bane do seake.

Thy face to shine upon thy servaunt make,
And save me in, and for thy mercies sake;
Lett me not tast of shame, O Lord, most hy.
For I have call'd on thee; let wicked folk
Confounded be; and passe away like smoak;
Lett them in bedd of endlesse silence dy.

Lett those lipps be made dumb which love to ly;
Which, full of spight, of pride, and cruelty,
Doe throw their wordes against the most upright.
Oh, of thy grace what endlesse pleasure flowes
To whom feare thee? what thou hast donne for those
That trust in thee, ev'n in most open sight?

And when neede were, from pride in privie plight
Thou hast hidd them; yet leaving them thy light
From strife of tongues, in thy pavilions plast.
Then praise, then praise, I doe, the Lord of us,
Who was to me more then most gratious:
Farre, farre, more sure, then walls most firmly fast.

Yet I confesse in that tempestious hast,
I said, that I from out thy sight was cast:
But thou didst heare, when I to thee did moane,
Then love the Lord all ye that feele his grace:
For this our Lord preserves the faithfull race,
And to the proud in deede payes home their owne.

Be strong, I say, this strength confirming you,
You that do trust in him who still is true,
And he shall your establishment renewe.