Classic Poem

My voice to thee it self extreamly strayning,
cries prayeng, lord: againe it cryeng praieth.
before thy face the cause of my complayning,
before thy face my cases mapp it laieth
wherein my soule is painted
in doubtfull way a stranger:
but, Lord, thou art acquainted,
and knowst each path, where stick the toiles of danger:
for me, mine ey to ev'ry coast directed
lights, not on one that will so much as know me:
my life by all neglected,
ev'n hope of help is now quight perish'd from me.

Then with good cause to thee my spiritt flieth,
flieth, and saith: o lord my safe abiding
abides in thee: in thee all-only lieth
lott of my life, and plott of my residing.
alas then yeeld me heiring,
for wearing woes have spent me:
and save me from their tearing,
who hunt me hard, and daily worse torment me.
o change my state, unthrall my soule enthralled:
of my escape then will I tell the story:
and with a crown enwalled
of godly men, will glory in thy glory.