Classic Poem

1.

Blessed is he whose filthy stain
The Lord with pardon dos make cleane,
Whose fault well hidden lyeth;
Blessed indeed to whom the Lord
Imputes not sins to be abhord,
Whose spirit falshood flyeth.

2.

Thus I, prest down with weight of pain,
Whether I silent did remain
Or roar'd, my bones still wasted;
For so both day and night did stand
On wretched me Thy heavy hand,
My life hott torments tasted.

3.

Till my self did my faults confess,
And open'd mine own wickedness
Wherto my heart did giue me:
So I my self accus'd to God,
And His sweet grace streight eas'd the rod,
And did due pain forgiue me.

4.

Therfore shall evry godly one
In fitt time make to Thee his moane,
When Thou wilt deign to heare him;
Sure, sure the floods of straying streames,
How ever they putt in their claimes,
Shall never dare come neare him.

5.

Thou art my safe and secret place,
Who savest me from troblous case,
To songs aud joyfull byding;
But whoso will instructed be,
Come, come, I will the way teach thee
Guide thee, by my eyes guiding.

6.

Oh, be not like a horse or mule,
Wholy devoyd of reason's rule,
Whose mouths thy self dost bridle,
Knowing full well that beasts they be,
And therfore soon would mischeif thee,
If thou remainest idle.

7.

Woes, woes shall come to wicked folks,
But who on God his trust invokes
All mercys shall be swarmed.
Be glad, you good, in God haue joy,
Joy be to you who do enjoy
Yor heartes with clearness armed.