Classic Poem

Tune of old XXV

The bounteous man is blest
 Who feels for want and woe;
The Lord shall save him when opprest,
 And to his need bestow.

The Lord preserve his health,
 And keep him long alive;
Nor open violence nor stealth
 His goodly lot deprive.

The Lord his spirit sooth
 When pain his patience tries—
Yea Christ his bed of sickness smooth
 As languishing he lies.

My state of death reprieve,
 Thou gracious Lord, I said,
O heal and yet again receive,
 For I have err'd and stray'd.

Mine enemies belye
 My fame, and marr my peace,
Enquiring when shall David die
 And his memorial cease?

And if they come or send
 In their officious hate,
Vain talk and false conceits they vend
 To misreport my state.

My foes together swarm,
 And whisp'ring undermine;
For me this evil wish they form,
 This cruelty design.

“The doom of guilt in pain
 Betide his parting breath,
Nor ever let him rise again
 From his untimely death.”

Yea ev'n the man I chose,
 On whom my soul relied,
My daily guest has join'd my foes
 To trample and deride.

But let their rage excite
 Thy mercy, Lord, the more,
And that I may their hate requite
 With love, my strength restore.

By this I rest assur'd
 That I have favour found,
Because thou hast my coast secur'd
 From all the force around.

My health when I am well
 Is from thy bounteous hands,
And thou shalt take my soul to dwell
 Where now my angel stands.

Bless Christ the health of souls,
 And Israel's gracious Lord,
While in immense eternal rolls,
 Let heav'n and earth accord.