Classic Poem

O Save me, thou supremely blest,
These floods of tears controul,
For inward weeping clogs my breast,
And overwhelms my soul.

I am bemir'd in filth so deep,
And where no bottom lies;
Mine enemies in torrents sweep
My remnant, as they rise.

I am fatigu'd, as thus I wail,
My throat is hoarse and dry;
Mine eyes with looking upward fail,
As to the Lord I cry.

More than my hairs the sons of strife
In causeless hate unite,
And foes against my guiltless life
Have muster'd all their might.

I paid extortioners their price
For what they yet detain;
Thou know'st my simpleness, my vice,
O God, is but too plain.

Let not thy sons, O Lord of hosts
Be for my follies blam'd,
Nor let thy servants quit their posts
Thro' my default asham'd.

And why! I suffer for thy sake,
Dishearten'd and reprov'd;
And of this foul disgrace partake
From thy defence remov'd.

I am become to all my kin
As foreign to their care;
My mothers children from within
Refuse me entrance there.

For zeal relating to thy cause
Upon my spirit preys;
And, who blasphemes thy church and laws,
Against my heart inveighs.

I wept and mortify'd my flesh
With fasting and with tears;
On that my foes came on afresh
With obloquy and sneers.

The sackcloth too in grief I wore,
And threw me on the dust,
Which meekness but provok'd the more
Their jesting and disgust

The mob that sit without the gate
Are pleasant on my wrongs,
And drunkards make mine abject state
The subject of their songs.

But Lord, I will my pray'r submit
To thy most righteous pow'r,
And of my vow myself acquit
In this propitious hour

Hear me, O Lord, in thine excess
Of goodness to my need,
According to thy truth express,
In which my sins are freed.

Take me from out the sinking slough,
And set me on the ground;
And from the scorner's angry brow,
And from the gulph profound.

Let not the water flood of woes
Above my level swell,
Nor let the deep it's jaws disclose
To shew the pit of hell.

Thy cordial clemency extend,
And hear me as I pray;
And as it knows nor bounds nor end,
Again thy love display.

Do not thy radiant face withdraw
For trouble presses hard;
And as the pangs vexatious gnaw,
With speed my groans regard.

Draw nigh, my soul in mercy save
With pregnant anguish big,
O come and rescue from the grave
Which spite and treach'ry dig.

This shame, reproof, and foul disgrace
So justly made my own,
Thou know'st, and seest the coward race
Which prostrate mis'ry stone.

Thine anger touches me so nigh
That care disturbs my mind;
I look'd, but not a pitying eye
No comfort cou'd I find.

They for my morsel gave me gall
Their sinking souls to plunge,
And to my poignant thirst withal
They minister'd the spunge.

Yet let them not the less receive
The lot of plenteous wealth,
And their condemn'd estate reprieve
With thine eternal health.

Ope thou their eyes, that they may see
Thy glory's heav'nly tracks,
And lay, while they submit their knee,
Thy burden on their backs.

In love account them of thy fold,
And on thy bread subsist;
Give them thy presence to behold,
And of thy saints inlist.

With children let their house be fill'd,
And of misfortunes void,
And let their fertile lands be till'd,
And granaries employ'd.

Do this for them, who yet awhile
Embarrass'd grief perplex,
And who, as Satan's snares beguile,
Thy wounded servant vex.

Let them emerge from strength to strength,
And rise as they repent;
And their converted souls at length
To final peace be sent.

Let them escape the hand that wipes
The recreant from thy page,
And live in those eternal types
Which write the saint and sage.

Me, while these agonies I feel,
In such dejection sunk,
O God, thy help shall ease and heal
The sinews which have shrunk.

O God, I will extoll thy name
In ever-grateful verse,
And records of thy glorious fame
Throughout the world disperse.

These God had rather I should give,
Love's unpolluted proofs,
Than beasts, which he has made to live,
And fenc'd with horns and hoofs.

The humble shall consider this,
And be for ever glad;
Seek ye the Lord, and heav'nly bliss
He to your souls shall add.

For there is audience to the poor
With their all-gracious Lord,
Who scorns not those whom bars immure,
And keepers have in ward.

Let earth adore, as from the spring
Her choicest flow'rs she straws;
Let heav'n and ocean have their swing
Of infinite applause.

For Jesus shall repair the road
To Zion's heav'nly courts,
That men may settle their abode
Where endless joy transports.

And there the race of his elect
Shall hold their souls in peace;
And all that his dear name affect,
Its lustre shall increase.