Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, PSALM 9. CONFITEBOR TIBI, by OLD TESTAMENT BIBLE

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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

PSALM 9. CONFITEBOR TIBI, by                
First Line: With all my heart, o lord, I will praise thee
Last Line: But men to be.

With all my heart, O Lord, I will praise Thee,
My speeches all Thy marvels shall descry;
In Thee my joys and comforts ever be,
Yea even my songs Thy name shall magnify,
O Lord most high.
Because my foes to fly are now constrained
And they are fall'n, nay perished at Thy sight;
For Thou my cause, my right, Thou hast maintained,
Setting Thyself in throne, which shined bright
Of judging right.
Then Gentiles Thou rebuked sorely hast,
And wicked folks from Thee to wrack do wend.
And their renown, which seemed so like to last,
Thou dost put out, and quite consuming send
To endless end.
O bragging foe, where is the endless waste
Of conquered states, whereby such fame you got?
What? Doth their memory no longer last?
Both ruins, ruiners, and ruined plot
Be quite forgot.
But God shall sit in His eternal chair
Which He prepared to give His judgments high;
Thither the world for justice shall repair,
Thence He to all His judgments shall apply
Thou, Lord, also the oppressed wilt defend
That they to Thee in troublous time may flee;
They that know Thee, on Thee their trust will bend,
For Thou, Lord, found by them wilt ever be
That seek to Thee.
O praise the Lord, this Sion-dweller good,
Show forth His acts, and this as act most high,
That He inquiring, doth require just blood,
Which He forgetteth not, nor letteth die
The afflicted cry.
Have mercy, mercy, Lord, I once did say,
Ponder the pains, which on me loaden be
By them whose minds on hateful thoughts do stay;
Thou, Lord, that from death's gates hast lifted me,
I call to Thee.
That I within the ports most beautiful
Of Sion's daughter may sing forth Thy praise;
That I, even I, of heavenly comfort full,
May only joy in all Thy saving ways
Throughout my days.
No sooner said, but, lo, mine enemies sink
Down in the pit, which they themselves had wrought,
And in that net, which they well hidden think,
Is their own foot, led by their own ill thought,
Most surely caught.
For then the Lord in judgment shows to reign
When godless men be snared in their own snares;
When wicked souls be turned to hellish pain,
And that forgetful sort, which never cares
What God prepares.
But of the other side, the poor in sprite
Shall not be scraped from out of heavenly score,
Nor meek abiding of the patient wight
Yet perish shall, although his pain be sore,
Forever more.
Up Lord, and judge the Gentiles in Thy right
And let not man have upper hand of Thee;
With terrors great, O Lord, do Thou them fright
That by sharp proofs the heathen themselves may see
But men to be.

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