20 6 The Lord shall write it in a Scrowle That ne're shall be out-worn When he the Nations doth enrowle That this man there was born.
7 Both they who sing, and they who dance With sacred Songs are there, In thee fresh brooks, and soft streams glance And all my fountains clear.
PSAL.

LXXXVIII 1 LORD God that dost me save and keep, All day to thee I cry; And all night long, before thee weep Before thee prostrate lie.
2 Into thy presence let my praier With sighs devout ascend And to my cries, that ceaseless are, Thine ear with favour bend.
3 For cloy'd with woes and trouble store Surcharg'd my Soul doth lie, 10 My life at death's uncherful dore Unto the grave draws nigh.
4 Reck'n'd I am with them that pass Down to the dismal pit I am a *man, but weak alas * Heb.

A man without manly And for that name unfit.

strength.
5 From life discharg'd and parted quite Among the dead to sleep And like the slain in bloody fight That in the grave lie deep.

20 Whom thou rememberest no more, Dost never more regard, Them from thy hand deliver'd o're Deaths hideous house hath barr'd.
6 Thou in the lowest pit profound' Hast set me all forlorn, Where thickest darkness hovers round, In horrid deeps to mourn.
7 Thy wrath from which no shelter saves Full sore doth press on me; 30 *Thou break'st upon me all thy waves, *The Heb.
*And all thy waves break me bears both.
8 Thou dost my friends from me estrange, And mak'st me odious, Me to them odious, for they change, And I here pent up thus.
9 Through sorrow, and affliction great Mine eye grows dim and dead, Lord all the day I thee entreat, My hands to thee I spread.