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Benedictus Dominus.
PRAIS’D bee the Lord of might, | |
| My rock in all allarms, | |
| By whom my hands doe fight, | |
| My fingers manage armes: | |
| My grace, my guard, my fort, | 5 |
| On whom my safety staies: | |
| To whom my hopes resort, | |
| By whom my realm obaies. | |
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| Lord, what is man that thou | |
| Should’st tender soe his fare? | 10 |
| What hath his child to bow | |
| Thy thoughts unto his care? | |
| Whose neerest kinn is nought; | |
| No image of whose daies | |
| More lively can bee thought, | 15 |
| Then shade that never staies. | |
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| Lord, bend thy arched skies | |
| With ease to let thee down, | |
| And make the stormes arise | |
| From mountane’s fuming crown. | 20 |
| Lett follow flames from sky, | |
| To back their stoutest stand: | |
| Lett fast thy arrowes fly, | |
| Dispersing thickest band. | |
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| Thy heav’nly helpe extend, | 25 |
| And lift me from this flood: | |
| Lett mee thy hand defend | |
| From hand of forraine brood; | |
| Whose mouth no mouth at all, | |
| But forge of false entent, | 30 |
| Wherto their hand doth fall | |
| As aptest instrument. | |
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| Then in new song to thee | |
| Will I exalt my voice: | |
| Then shall, O God, with me | 35 |
| My ten-string’d lute rejoyce. | |
| Rejoyce in him, I say, | |
| Who royall right preserves, | |
| And saves from sword’s decay | |
| His David that him serves. | 40 |
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| O Lord, thy help extend, | |
| And lift mee from this flood: | |
| Lett me thy hand defend | |
| From hand of forrain brood; | |
| Whose mouth no mouth at all, | 45 |
| But forge of false entent, | |
| Whereto their hand doth fall | |
| As aptest instrument. | |
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| Soe then our sonnes shall grow | |
| As plants of timely spring, | 50 |
| Whom soone to fairest shew | |
| Their happy growth doth bring. | |
| As pillers both doe beare | |
| And garnish kingly hall, | |
| Our daughters, straight and faire, | 55 |
| Each howse embellish shall. | |
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| Our store shall ay bee full; | |
| Yea, shall such fullness finde, | |
| Though all from thence wee pull, | |
| Yet more shall rest behinde: | 60 |
| The millions of encrease | |
| Shall breake the wonted fold; | |
| Yea, such the sheepy prease, | |
| The streetes shall scantly hold. | |
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| Our heards shall brave the best; | 65 |
| Abroad no foes alarme; | |
| At home to breake our rest, | |
| No cry the voice of harme. | |
| If blessed tearme I may, | |
| On whom such blessings fall; | 70 |
| Then blessed, blessed they | |
| Their God Jehova call. | |
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