Breathing after comfort and deliverance.

ver. 153

My God, consider my distress,
Let mercy plead my cause;
Though I have sinned against thy grace,
I can't forget thy laws.

ver. 39,116

Forbid, forbid the sharp reproach
Which I so justly fear;
Uphold my life, uphold my hopes,
Not let my shame appear.

ver. 122,135

Be thou a surety, Lord, for me,
Nor let the proud oppress;
But make thy waiting servant see
The shining of thy face.

ver. 82

My eyes with expectation fail,

Breathing after holiness.

ver. 5,33

O that the Lord would guide my ways
To keep his statutes still!
O that my God would grant me grace
To know and do his will!

ver. 29

O send thy Spirit down to write
Thy law upon my heart!
Nor let my tongue indulge deceit,
Nor act the liar's part.

ver. 37,36

From vanity turn off my eyes;
Let no corrupt design,
Nor covetous desires, arise
Within this soul of mine.

ver. 133

Order my footsteps by thy word,
And make my heart sincere;

Pleading the promises.

ver. 38,49

Behold thy waiting servant, Lord,
Devoted to thy fear;
Remember and confirm thy word,
For all my hopes are there.

ver. 41,58,107

Hast thou not writ salvation down,
And promised quick'ning grace?
Doth not my heart address thy throne?
And yet thy love delays.

ver. 123,42

Mine eyes for thy salvation fail;
O bear thy servant up!
Nor let the scoffing lips prevail
Who dare reproach my hope.

ver. 49,74

Didst thou not raise my faith, O Lord?

The blessedness of saints, and misery of sinners.

ver. 1-3

Blest are the undefiled in heart,
Whose ways are right and clean;
Who never from thy law depart,
But fly from every sin.

Blest are the men that keep thy word,
And practise thy commands;
With their whole heart they seek the Lord,
And serve thee with their hands.

ver. 165

Great is their peace who love thy law;
How firm their souls abide!
Nor can a bold temptation draw
Their steady feet aside.

ver. 6

v.6-15
C. M.
Deliverance from a tumult.

The Lord appears my helper now,
Nor is my faith afraid
What all the sons of earth can do,
Since heav'n affords its aid.

'Tis safer, Lord, to hope in thee,
And have my God my friend,
Than trust in men of high degree,
And on their truth depend.

Like bees, my foes beset me round,
A large and angry swarm;
But I shall all their rage confound
By thine almighty arm.

'Tis through the Lord my heart is strong,
In him my lips rejoice;
While his salvation is my song,

Recovery from sickness.

I love the Lord; he heard my cries,
And pitied every groan;
Long as I live, when troubles rise,
I'll hasten to his throne.

I love the Lord; he bowed his ear,
And chased my griefs away;
O let my heart no more despair,
While I have breath to pray!

My flesh declined, my spirits fell,
And I drew near the dead;
While inward pangs and fears of hell
Perplexed my wakeful head.

"My God," I cried, "thy servant save,
"Thou ever good and just;
Thy power can rescue from the grave,

A plain translation. Praise to our Creator.

Ye nations round the earth, rejoice
Before the Lord, your sovereign King;
Serve him with cheerful heart and voice,
With all your tongues his glory sing.

The Lord is God; 'tis he alone
Doth life, and breath, and being give;
We are his work, and not our own,
The sheep that on his pastures live.

Enter his gates with songs of joy,
With praises to his courts repair;
And make it your divine employ
To pay your thanks and honors there.

The Lord is good, the Lord is kind,

Aug. 10. 1653.


Answer me when I call
God of my righteousness;
In straights and in distress
Thou didst me disinthrall
And set at large; now spare,
Now pity me, and hear my earnest prai'r.

Great ones how long will ye
My glory have in scorn
How long be thus forlorn
Still to love vanity,
To love, to seek, to prize
Things false and vain and nothing else but lies?

Yet know the Lord hath chose
Chose to himself a part
The good and meek of heart

Proud with the spoils of royal cully,
With false pretence to wit and parts,
She swaggers like a batter'd bully
To try the tempers of men's hearts.

Tho' she appears as gay and fine
As jet and gems and paint can make her,
She ne'er shall win a heart like mine --
The devil or Sir Davy take her.

Her bed is like the Scripture feast,
Where none who were invited came,
So disappointed of her guest,
She took up with the blind and lame.

Because your eyes are slant and slow,
Because your hair is sweet to touch,
My heart is high again; but oh,
I doubt if this will get me much.