Classic Poem

Part I.

L ORD , snatch me from the raging flood,
Now in deep eddies almost drown'd,
That struggle in the yielding mud,
There, where no bottom can be found.
The rising waves my head surround,
And with their terrors chill my blood.

Tir'd with complaining, hoarse and sore,
Sight fails my long-expecting eyes.
My hairs are not in number more
Than my uninjur'd enemies.
The great-in-wrong against me rise;
I what I never took restore.

My God, Thou know'st my innocence;
Let not the faithful blush for me,
Traduc'd by sland'rous impudence.
Nor O! let those that call on Thee
Their shame in my confusion see,
Since Thou art our profess'd defence.

For Thee I suffer calumnies,
To men become a gen'ral scorn,
Deserted by my near allies,
By children of my mother born.
Through zeal unto Thy honour worn,
While Thy reproach upon me lies.

I fasted, wept, in sackcloth mourn'd,
My anguish in my looks express'd;
Yet this to my derision turn'd,
By drunkards sung at ev'ry feast;
Ev'n judges at my sorrow jest;
My innocence by slander spurn'd.

Part II.

Yet shall my pray'rs and sighs ascend
Ev'n in an acceptable hour.
Thy mercy, gracious Lord, extend,
And save by Thy almighty pow'r.
Let not the swallowing mud devour,
Preserve from such a shameful end.

Deliver from th' insulting foe,
My struggling feet from sinking keep;
Let not the billows overflow,
Nor whirl-pits suck into their deep.
O pity Thou the eyes that weep,
And Thy transcendent mercy show.

Hear, and redeem without delay,
Nor in my trouble hide Thy Face,
Lest I become a wretched prey
To such as have my soul in chase.
My shame, indignities, disgrace,
And all their crimes before Thee lay.

Reproach my bleeding heart hath pierc'd.
Was ever sorrow half so great?
Compassion hath her eyes avers'd;
My grief no comfort could intreat.
They gave me bitter gall to eat,
And vinegar to quench my thirst.

O be their board a snare to those,
Prosperity itself a bait;
Their eyes in clouds of darkness close,
And let them fall by their own weight;
Pour on them Thy eternal hate,
With vengeance multiply their woes.

Part III.

In ruins let their houses lie,
None in their silent tents be found,
That would whom Thou has smit destroy,
And wounded souls with slander wound.
Let their iniquities abound,
Nor ever in Thy mercy joy.

Their names out of Thy volume blot,
Nor with the just enthrone their days.
Though poor, to misery begot,
Yet Thou shalt my dejection raise.
Then will I celebrate Thy praise:
My thankful heart no time shall spot.

This will Jehovah more delight
Than bulls prepar'd for sacrifice,
Their gilded horns with garlands dight.
This shall the meek with pleased eyes
Behold, and centuple their joys:
Their day shall never set in night.

For God the poor regards, and those
Who for His sake affliction try.
Round earth, deep seas, what seas enclose,
You orbs that move so orderly,
Our great Jehovah magnify,
Who crowns His saints with sweet repose.

For God His Sion shall immure,
And Judah's cities build again,
Where they shall ever live secure,
And fair inheritance obtain.
There shall their blessed seed remain,
And safely that rich soil manure.