Part Of The Sixty-Ninth Psalm Poem by Rees Prichard

Preserve, O Lord! my precious soul
From the deep floods that o'er me roll,
And hourly compass me around,
That I'm in dread of being drown'd.

I sank into th' abyss of woe,
And found no bottom to the slough,
The billows broke above my head;
So that, through fear, I'm almost dead.

To God, till I was tir'd, I cry'd,
My throat grew hoarse, my spittle dry'd,
I look'd, and look'd so long, for thee,
My eyes grew dim, I cou'd not see.

My foes, e'en than my hairs, are more,
Or than the sands upon the shore,
They all are swift and strong and wise,
Who causelessly against me rise.

Nay, very powerful are they,
Who seek my guiltless soul to slay ;
More than their due I did restore,
Though I was then extremely poor.

My follies, Lord! thou knowest well,
Thou my simplicity canst tell,
And my transgressions naked lie,
Before thy all-surveying eye.

O, let not them, that trust in thee,
Be scandaliz'd, because of me!
O, let not those, that seek thy face,
On my account, endure disgrace!

For why? I've often suffer'd blame
For thee, and been o'erwhelm'd with shame,
And often been oblig'd to take
A thousand insults for thy sake.

I, to my brethren, am become
A perfect stranger, tho' at home:
So much an alien there I'm grown,
I'm to my mother's sons unknown.

Unto thy house such zeal I bear,
It shocks my soul, their scoffs to hear ;
For all those scoffs revert to me:
O hear me, when I cry to thee!

A flood of scalding tears I wept,
A fast the live-long day I kept,
And strove thereby my flesh to tame,
Yet e'en mine abstinence they blame.

Sackcloth and ashes on my head,
Like one with grief o'ercome, I spread,
'Till my wan face, and heart opprest,
Made me become each drunkard's jest.

But, Lord, to thee my pray'r I pour,
O hear me in a happy hour!
O hear me, God of mercy, hear,
And turn to my complaint an ear!

O take me from the mire and clay!
Ne'er let me fall from thee away!
Deliver me from ev'ry foe,
And pluck me from th' abyss of woe!

Let not the water-floods o'erpow'r -
Let not the pit my soul devour -
Let not the loud-resounding tide,
Beneath its waves, thy servant hide!

Lord, listen to my loud complaint -
Refresh me kindly, lest I faint,
And turn to me thy radiant face:
For sweet is thy assisting Grace!

Thy countenance, Lord, do not hide,
For I'm distress'd on ev'ry side;
O come, unto my aid, with speed,
And hear me in the time of need!

To my endanger'd soul draw nigh,
And save it from its misery!
O save me from the hands of those
I hate - O save me from my foes!

To thee, my fears and shame are known,
To thee, is my dishonour shown,
My foes are ever in thy sight,
Lord, turn their hearts, and set them right!

My heart is ready now to break -
My woe's so great I scarce can speak -
Yet I no faithful friend can see,
To shew compassion unto me.

Come then, my God! O come with speed,
Give me the comfort that I need!
Remove whatever cares annoy
My heart - that I may laugh for joy!

Judge thou, just God! thy servant's cause,
According to thy righteous laws,
And mark the insults and the woes
I've borne from despicable foes.

Be thou, O Christ, my advocate,
And enter for me to debate,
Nor let the overbearing foe
Insult a man so very low!

And thou, soft Pity's Sire, console
My sad and sin-bespotted soul,
Cheer my sunk heart, and make me rest
In endless joy, among the blest!

From thy salvation, O my King,
To me again assistance bring;
With thy free Spirit fill my breast,
Nor let me be with woe opprest!

O let me hear thy glorious voice,
That I may in the sound rejoice;
And that the heart thou hast distrest,
May leap for joy within my breast!