PSALM LXXXVIII.

Tate and Brady

3 For seas of trouble me invade,
My soul draws nigh to death's cold shade;
4. Like one whose strength and hopes are fled,
They number me among the dead.

5 Like those who, shrouded in the grave,
From thee no more remembrance have;
6 Cast off from thy sustaining care
Down to the confines of despair.

7 Thy wrath has hard upon me lain,
Afflicting me with restless pain:
Me all thy mountain waves have prest,
Too weak, alas! to bear the least.

8 Remov'd from friends, I sigh alone
In a loath'd dungeon laid, where none
A visit will vouchsafe to me,
Confin'd, past hopes of liberty.

9 My eyes from weeping never cease,
They waste, but still my griefs increase;
Yet daily, Lord, to thee I pray'd,
With out-stretch'd hands invok'd thy aid.

10 Wilt thou by miracle revive
The dead, whom thou forsook'st alive?
From death restore, thy praise to sing,
Whom thou from prison would'st not bring?

11 Shall the mute grave thy love confess?
A mould'ring tomb thy faithfulness?
12 Thy truth and pow'r renown obtain,
Where darkness and oblivion reign?

13 To thee, O Lord, I cry, forlorn;
My prayer prevents the early morn.
14 why hast thou, Lord, my soul forsook,
Nor once vouchsaf'd a gracious look?

15 Prevailing sorrows bear me down,
Which from my youth with me have grown;
Thy terrors past distract my mind,
And fears of blacker days behind.

16 Thy wrath hath burst upon my head,
Thy terrors fill my soul with dread;
17 Environ'd as with waves combin'd,
And for a gen'ral deluge join'd.

18 My lovers, friends, familiars, all
Remov'd from sight, and out of call;
To dark oblivion all retir'd,
Dead, or at least to me expir'd.