English metrical Old Version (Thomas Norton)
Lord, hear my pray'r and my complaint
Which I do make to thee,
And in thy native truth, and in
Thy justice answer me.
In judgement with thy servant, Lord,
O enter not at a1l:
For justify'd be in thy sight
Not one that liveth shall.
The enemy pursu'd my soul,
My life to ground hath thrown
And laid me in the dark like them
That are to grave gone down:
Therefore my spirit in me is
In great perplexity,
My heart within me is also
Yet I record time past, and on
Thy works I meditate,
Yea, I do muse upon the works
That thy hands have create.
To thee, O Lord my God, do I
Stretch forth my craving hands:
My soul desireth after thee,
As do the thirsty lands.
Hear me with speed, my spirit fails,
Hide not thy face, lest I
Be like to them that in the pit
Sink down, and there do lie.
Let me thy loving-kindness in
The morning hear and know:
For in thee is my trust, shew me
The way that I should go.
For unto thee I lift my soul,
O Lord, deliver me
From all mine enemies, for I
Have hid myself with thee.
Teach me to do thy will, for thou,
Thou art my God alway,
Let thy good Spirit to the land
Of mercy me convey.
For thy name's sake with quick'ning grace
Alive do thou me make,
And out of trouble bring my soul,
E'en for thy justice' sake:
And of thy mercy slay my foes,
Let them destroyed be
That do oppress my soul, for I
A servant am to thee.
English metrical New Version (Tate & Brady)
Lord, hear my pray'r, and to my cry
Thy wonted audience lend;
In thy accustom'd faith and truth
A gracious answer send.
Nor at thy strict tribunal bring
Thy servant to be tried;
For in thy sight no living man
Can e'er be justified.
The spiteful foe pursues my life,
Whose comforts all are fled;
He drives me into caves as dark
As mansions of the dead.
My spirit therefore is o'erwhelm'd,
And sinks within my breast;
My mournful heart grows desolate,
With heavy woes opprest.
I call to mind the days of old,
And wonders thou hast wrought:
My former dangers and escapes
Employ my musing thought.
To thee my hands in humble pray'r
I fervently stretch out;
My soul for thy refreshment thirsts,
Like land oppress'd with drought.
Hear me with speed; my spirit fails;
Thy face no longer hide,
Lest I become forlorn, like them
That in the grave reside.
Thy kindness early let me hear,
Whose trust on thee depends;
Teach me the way where I should go;
My soul to thee ascends.
Do thou, O Lord, from all my foes
Preserve and set me free;
A safe retreat against their rage
My soul implores from thee.
Thou art my God, thy righteous will
Instruct me to obey;
Let thy good Spirit lead and keep
My soul in thy right way.
O! for the sake of thy great Name,
Revive my drooping heart;
For thy truth's sake, to me, distress'd,
Thy promis'd aid impart.
In pity to my suff'rings, Lord,
Reduce my foes to shame;
Slay them that persecute a soul
Devoted to thy Name.
Isaac Watts The Psalms of David imitated in the language of the New Testament
My righteous Judge, my gracious God,
Hear when I spread my hands abroad,
And cry for succor from thy throne;
O make thy truth and mercy known!
Let judgment not against me pass;
Behold, thy servant pleads thy grace:
Should justice call us to thy bar,
No man alive is guiltless there.
Look down in pity, Lord, and see
The mighty woes that burden me;
Down to the dust my life is brought,
Like one long buried and forgot.
I dwell in darkness and unseen,
My heart is desolate within;
My thoughts in musing silence trace
The ancient wonders of thy grace.
Thence I derive a glimpse of hope
To bear my sinking spirits up;
I stretch my hands to God again,
And thirst like parched lands for rain
For thee I thirst, I pray, I mourn:
When will thy smiling face return?
Shall all my joys on earth remove?
And God for ever hide his love?
My God, thy long delay to save
Will sink thy pris'ner to the grave;
My heart grows faint, and dim mine eye;
Make haste to help before I die.
The night is witness to my tears,
Distressing pains, distressing fears;
O might I hear thy morning voice,
How would my wearied powers rejoice!
In thee I trust, to thee I sigh,
And lift my weary soul on high;
For thee sit waiting all the day,
And wear the tiresome hours away.
Break off my fetters, Lord, and show
Which is the path my feet should go;
If snares and foes beset the road,
I flee to hide me near my God.
Teach me to do thy holy will,
And lead me to thy heav'nly hill;
Let the good Spirit of thy love
Conduct me to thy courts above.
Then shall my soul no more complain,
The tempter then shall rage in vain;
And flesh, that was my foe before,
Shall never vex my spirit more.