PSALM XXXVIII.

George Burgess

No healthful spot thine anger spares;
No limb but sin its lifestring tears;
High o'er my head my crimes have pass'd;
I cannot bear a load so vast!

My fest'ring wounds, with loathsome breath,
Spread wide the tale of sin and death:
I bow, I sink, and all the day
I mourn along my dismal way.

For, deep within, I feel the pest;
There is no spot of health or rest:
All faint and crush'd, aloud I cry,
And thou hast heard each anguish'd sigh.

Gone the firm heart, the arm of might;
Gone from mine eye its pleasant light;
And love looks on with sad amaze,
And brethren stand afar to gaze.

They spread their snares, who seek my life;
They think of fraud, and utter strife;
While, like the deaf, I close mine ear,
And, like the dumb, nor chide nor hear.

For I will wait thy shelt'ring wing;
Oh, answer soon, my God, my King;
Lest thy proud foes and mine shall see,
Shout o'er my fall, and mock at thee.

I sink, all faint with ceaseless pain;
I tell my sin, and mourn its chain;
Yet swell my foes' blaspheming throng,
And give the righteous bitter wrong.

They hate me for my upright vow;
O Lord my God, depart not thou!
Be near me in my hour of need;
My Lord, my Saviour, come with speed!