Psalm 38 (Domine, ne in furore)

Lord, while that thy rage doth bide,
Do not chide:
Nor in anger chastise me,
For thy shafts have peirc'd me sore,
And yet more
Still thy handes upon me be.

No sound part caus'd by thy wrath
My flesh hath:
Nor my synns lett my bones rest.
For my faults are highly spred
On my head,
Whose foule weightes have me opprest.

My woundes putrify and stinke,
In the sinck
Of my filthy folly laid:
Earthly I do bow and crook,
With a look
Still in mourning cheere araid.

In my reynes hott torment raignes,
There remaines
Nothing in my bodie sound.
I am weake and broken sore,
Yea, I roare;
In my hart such griefe is found.

Lord, before thee I do lay
What I pray,
My sighes are not hid from thee,
My hart pants, gone is my might,
Even the light
Of myne eyes abandons me.

From my plague, kinne, neighbour, frend,
Farre of wend:
But who for my life do waite,
They lay snares, they nimble be
Who hunt me,
Speaking ill, thinking deceite.

But I like a man become
Deaf and dumb,
Little hearing, speaking lesse;
I even as such kind of wight,
Sencelesse quite,
Word with word do not represse.

For on thee, Lord, without end,
I attend:
My God, thou wilt heare my voice,
For I said, heare, lest they be
Glad on me
Whom my fall doth make rejoyce.

Sure I do but baiting goe,
And my woe
Still my o'rethwart neighbour is.
Lo, I now to mourne beginne,
For my sinne
Telling mine iniquities.

But the while they live and grow
In greate show,
Many mighty wrongfull foes,
Who do evill for good, to me
Enimies be;
Why? because I vertue chose.

Do not, Lord, then me forsake,
Doe not take
Thy deere presence farre from me:
Haste, O Lord, that I be staid
By thy aid,
My salvation is in thee.