« PředchozíPokračovat »
11 Teach me, O Lord, thy way most right,
I in thy truth will bide;
To fear thy name my heart unite,
12 Thee will I praise, O Lord my God,
With my whole heart, and blaze abroad
13 For great thy mercy is toward me,
14 O God, the proud against me rise, And violent men are met
To seek my life, and in their eyes
15 But thou, Lord, art the God most mild,
16 Oh turn to me thy face at length,
17 Some sign of good to me afford,
1 AMONG the holy mountains high
2 Sion's fair gates the Lord loves more Than all the dwellings fair
Of Jacob's land, though there be store,
3 City of God, most glorious things
I mention Egypt, where proud kings
4 I mention Babel to my friends,
And Tyre, with Ethiop's utmost ends,
5 But twice that praise shall in our ear Be said of Sion last;
This and this man was born in her :
6 The Lord shall write it in a scroll,
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.
1 LORD GOD, that dost me save and keep,
All day to thee I
2 Into thy presence let my prayer,
And to my cries, that ceaseless are,
3 For, cloy'd with woes and trouble sore,
4 Reckon'd I am with them that pass Down to the dismal pit;
I am a man; but weak, alas!
And for that name unfit.
5 From life discharged and parted quite Among the dead to sleep;
And like the slain in bloody fight,
Whom thou rememberest no more,
6 Thou in the lowest pit profound Hast set me all forlorn, Where thickest darkness hovers round, In horrid deeps to mourn. 2 N
7 Thy wrath, from which no shelter saves,
8 Thou dost my friends from me estrange, And makest me odious;
Me to them odious, for they change,
9 Through sorrow and affliction great,
10 Wilt thou do wonders on the dead?
And praise thee from their loathsome bed,
11 Shall they thy loving-kindness tell,
On whom the grave hath hold?
12 In darkness can thy mighty hand
13 But I to thee, O Lord, do cry, Ere yet my life be spent ;
up to thee my prayer doth hie Each morn, and thee prevent.
14 Why wilt thou, Lord, my soul forsake,
Bruised and afflicted, and so low
While I thy terrors undergo,
16 Thy fierce wrath over me doth flow;
18 Lover and friend thou hast removed,
A PARAPHRASE ON PSALM CXIV.
This and the following Psalm were done by the Author at fifteen years old.
WHEN the bless'd seed of Terah's faithful son,