PSALM XVI.

Tate and Brady

2 My soul all help but thine does slight,
All gods but thee disown;
Yet can no deeds of mine requite
The goodness thou hast shown.

3 But those that strictly virtuous are,
And love the thing that's right,
To favour always and prefer
Shall be my chief delight.

4 How shall their sorrows be increas'd,
Who other gods adore
Their bloody off'rings I detest,
Their very names abhor.

5 My lot is fall'n in that blest land
Where God is truly known;
He fills my cup with lib'ral hand;
'Tis he supports my throne.

6 In nature's most delightful scene
My happy portion lies;
The place of my appointed reign
All other lands outvies.

7 Therefore my soul shall bless the Lord,
Whose precepts give me light,
And private counsel still afford
In sorrow's dismal night.

8 I strive each action to approve
To his all-seeing eye;
No danger shall my hopes remove,
Because he still is nigh.

9 Therefore my heart all grief defies,
My glory does rejoice;
My flesh shall rest in hope to rise,
Wak'd by his pow'rful voice.

10 Thou, Lord, when I resign my breath,
My soul from hell shalt free;
Nor let thy Holy One in death
The least corruption see.

11 Thou shalt the paths of life display,
That to thy presence lead;
Where pleasures dwell without allay,
And joys that never fade.