Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, PSALM 10. UT QUID DOMINE, by OLD TESTAMENT BIBLE

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PSALM 10. UT QUID DOMINE, by            
First Line: Why standest thou so far
Last Line: Of earthly man, a lord of dust.

Why standest Thou so far,
O God, our only star,
In time most fit for Thee
To help who vexed be?
For, lo, with pride the wicked man
Still plagues the poor the most he can.
O let proud him be throughly caught
In craft of his own crafty thought!

For he himself doth praise
When he his lust doth ease
Extolling ravenous gain,
But doth God's self disdain.
Nay so proud is his puffed thought
That after God he never sought,
But rather much he fancies this
That name of God a fable is.

For while his ways do prove
On them he sets his love,
Thy judgments are too high
He cannot them espy,
Therefore he doth defy all those
That dare themselves to him oppose,
And sayeth in his bragging heart,
This gotten bliss shall never part,

Nor he removed be
Nor danger ever see;
Yet from his mouth doth spring
Cursing and cosening;
Under his tongue do harbored lie
Both mischief and iniquity.
For proof oft lain in wait he is
In secret byway villages.

In such a place unknown
To slay the hurtless one,
With winking eyes aye bent
Against the innocent,
Like lurking lion in his den,
He waits to spoil the simple men.
Whom to their loss he still doth get
When he once draw'th his wily net.

O with how simple look
He oft layeth out his hook,
And with how humble shows
To trap poor souls he goes!
Thus freely saith he in his sprite;
God sleeps, or hath forgotten quite;
His far off sight now hoodwinked is,
He leisure wants to mark all this.

Then rise and come abroad,
O Lord, our only God,
Lift up Thy heavenly hand
And by the silly stand.
Why should the evil, so evil, despise
The power of Thy through-seeing eyes?
And why should he in heart so hard
Say, Thou dost not Thine own regard?

But naked before Thine eyes
All wrong and mischief lies,
For of them in Thy hands
The balance ev'nly stands;
But who aright poor-minded be
Commit their cause, themselves, to Thee,
The succor of the succorless
And father of the fatherless.

Break Thou the wicked arm
Whose fury bends to harm;
Search them, and wicked he
Will straightway nothing be.
So Lord, we shall Thy title sing
Ever and ever to be king,
Who hast the heath'ny folk destroyed
From out Thy land by them annoyed.

Thou openest heavenly door
To prayers of the poor.
Thou first prepared their mind
Then ear to them inclined.
O be Thou still the orphan's aid
That poor from ruin may be stayed,
Lest we should ever fear the lust
Of earthly man, a lord of dust.

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