35 40 45 8 Thoa dost my friends from me estrange, And mak'st me odious, And I here pent up thus. Mine eye grows dim and dead; Lord, all the day I thee intreat, My hands to thee 1 spread. Shall the deceas'd arise, With pale and hollow eyes? On whom the grave hath hold ? Or they who in perdition dwell, Thy faithfulness unfold ? 12 In darkness can thy mighty liantil Or wondrous acts be known? Thy justice in the gloomy land Of dark oblivion ? Ere yet my life be spent : Each morn, and thee prevent. And hide thy face froin me? 15 That am already bruis’d, and * shake With terror sent from thee? As ready to expire; Astonish'd witbihine ire. 53 * 17 All day they round about me go, Like waves they me pursue. And sever'd from me far: A PARAPHRASE ON PSALM CXIV. (This and the following Psalm were done by the Author at fifteen years old.] 10 PSALM CXXXVI. 5 to 15 20 For his mercies aye endure, Ever faithful, ever sure. For his, &c. For bis, &e. For his, &c. For his, &c. For his, &c. For his, &c. For his, &c. For bis, &c. For his, &c. for his, &c. 25 30 35 45 The ruddy waves he cleft in twain For his, &c. For his, &c. For his, &c. For his, &c. For his, &c. For bis, &c. For his, &c. For his, &c. For his, &c. For his, &c. For his, &c. 70 75 80 85 |