Classic Poem

To Thee, Lord, my cry I send;
O, my strength, stop not Thine ear
Lest, if answer Thou forbear,
I be like them that descend
To the pit where flesh doth end.
Therefore, while that I may cry,
While I that way hold my hands
Where Thy sanctuary stands,
To Thyself those words apply
Which from 'suing voice do fly.
Link not me in selfsame chain
With the wicked working folk
Who, their spotted thoughts to cloak,
Neighbours friendly entertain
When in hearts they malice mean.
Spare not them; give them reward
As their deeds have purchased it,
As deserves their wicked wit;
Fare they as their hands have fared:
E'en so be their guerdon shared.
To Thy works they give no eye;
Let them be thrown down by Thee;
Let them not restored be;
But let me give praises high
To the Lord that hears my cry.
That God is my strength, my shield;
All my trust on Him was set,
And so I did safety get;
So shall I with joy be filled,
So my songs His lauds shall yield.
God on them His strength doth lay
Who His anointed helped have.
Lord then still Thy people save;
Bless Thine heritage, I say,
Feed and lift them up for ay.