I AM the man which have
affliction seene,
Under the rod of Gods wrath
having beene,
He hath led mee to
darknesse, not to light,
And
against mee all day, his hand doth
fight.
Hee hath
broke my
bones, worne out my flesh and
skinne,
Built up against mee; and hath
girt mee in
With
hemlocke, and with labour; and set mee
In
darke, as they who dead for ever
bee.
Hee hath hedg'd me
lest I scape, and
added more
To my
steele fetters, heavier than
before.
When I crie out, he out shuts my
prayer: And hath
Stop'd with hewn
stone my way, and turn'd my path.
And like a
Lionhid in secrecie,
Or Beare which
lyes in wait, he was to mee.
He stops my way, teares me, made desolate,
And hee makes mee the marke he
shooteth at.
Hee
made the children of his quiver passe
Into my reines, I with my
people was
All the day long, a song and
mockery.
Hee hath
fill'd mee with bitternesse, and he
Hath made me drunke with
wormewood. He hath burst
My teeth with
stones, and covered mee with
dust;
And thus my Soule farre off from
peace was set,
And my
prosperity I did forget.
My
strength, my hope (unto my selfe
I said)
Which from the
Lord should come, is perished.
But when
my mournings I do thinke upon,
My
wormwood, hemlocke, and affliction,
My
Soule is humbled in remembring this;
My heart
considers, therefore, hope there is.
'Tis
Gods great
mercy we'are not
utterly
Consum'd, for his
compassions do not die;
For every morning they
renewed bee,
For great, O
Lord, is thy
fidelity.
The Lord is, saith my Soule, my portion,
And therefore in him will I hope
alone.
The
Lord is good to them, who on him relie,
And to the Soule that seeks him earnestly.
It is both good to
trust, and to attend
(The Lords
salvation) unto the end:
'Tis good for one his yoake in
youth to beare;
He
sits alone, and doth all speech forbearer
Because he hath borne it. And
his mouth he layes
Deepe in the dust, yet then in hope he stayes.
He gives his cheekes to whosoever will
Strike
him, and so he is reproched still.
For, not for ever doth the Lord
forsake,
But when he'hath strucke with sadnes, hee doth take
Compassion, as his
mercy'is infinite;
Nor is it
with his heart, that he doth smite;
That
underfoot the prisoners stamped
bee,
That a mans right the
judge himselfe doth see
To be wrung from him, That he subverted is
In his
just cause; the Lord allowes not this.
Who then will say, that ought doth
come to passe,
But that which by the Lord commanded was?
Both
good and
evill from his mouth proceeds;
Why
then grieves any man for his
misdeeds?
Turne wee to God, by trying out
our wayes;
To him in heaven, our hands with hearts upraise.
Wee have rebell'd, and falne away from thee,
Thou
pardon'st not; Usest no clemencie;
Pursuest us, kill'st us, coverest us
with wrath,
Cover'st thy
selfe with clouds, that our prayer hath
No power to passe. And thou hast made us fall
As
refuse, and off-scouring to them all.
All our foes gape at us.
Feare and
a snare
With ruine, and with waste, upon us are.
With watry
rivers doth mine eye oreflow
For ruine
of my peoples daughter so;
Mine eye doth drop downe teares incessantly,
Untill the Lord looke downe from heaven to see.
And for my citys daughters sake, mine eye
Doth
breake mine heart. Causles mine enemy,
Like a bird chac'd me. In a
dungeon
They have shut my
life, and cast on me a stone.
Waters flow'd o'r my head, then thought I, I am
Destroy'd; I called Lord, upon thy name
Out of the pit. And
thou my voice didst heare;
Oh from my sigh, and crye, stop not thine
eare.
Then when I call'd upon thee, thou drew'st nere
Unto mee, and said'st unto mee, do you feare.
Thou Lord my
Soules cause handled
hast, and thou
Rescud'st my life. O Lord do thou
judge now,
Thou heardst my wrong. Their vengeance all they
have wrought;
How they
reproached, thou hast heard, and what they
thought,
What their lips
uttered, which against me rose,
And
what was ever whisper'd by my
foes.
I am their song, whether
they rise or sit,
Give them
rewards Lord, for their working fit,
Sorrow of heart, thy
curse. And with thy might
Follow, and
from under heaven
destroy them quite.
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