PSALM XXX.

Tate and Brady

2, 3 In my distress I cried to thee,
Who kindly didst relieve,
And from the grave's expecting jaws
My hopeless life retrieve.

4 Thus to his courts, ye saints of his,
With songs of praise repair;
With me commemorate his truth,
And providential care.

5 His wrath has but a moment's reign,
His favour no decay;
Your night of grief is recompens'd
With joy's returning day.

6 But I in prosp'rous days presum'd;
No sudden change I fear'd,
Whilst in my sunshine of success
No low'ring cloud appear'd.

7 But soon I found thy favour, Lord,
My empire's only trust;
For when thou hid'st thy face, I saw
My honour laid in dust.

8 Then, as I vainly had presum'd,
My error I confess'd;
And thus, with supplicating voice,
Thy mercy's throne address'd:

9 What profit is there in my blood,
Congeal'd by death's cold night?
Can silent ashes speak thy praise,
Thy wondrous truth recite?

10 Hear me, O Lord; in mercy, hear:
Thy wonted aid extend;
Do thou send help, on whom alone
I can for help depend.

11 'Tis done! Thou hast my mournful scene
To songs and dances turn'd;
Invested me with robes of state,
Who late in sackcloth mourn'd.

12 Exalted thus, I'll gladly sing
Thy praise in grateful verse;
And, as thy favours endless are,
Thy endless praise rehearse.