Classic Poem

Psal. 3.

As the 113. Psalme;

Ye Children which, &c.

Ah Lord! how many be my foes!
How many are against me rose,
That to my grieued soule haue sed,
Tush: God shall him no succour yield;
Whiles thou Lord art my praise, my shield
And dost aduance my carefull head.

Loud with my voice to God I cri'd:
His grace vnto my sute reply'd,
From out his Sions holy hill.
I layd me downe, slept, rose againe.
For thou O Lord dost me sustaine,
And sav'st my soule from feared ill.

Not if ten thousand armed foes
My naked side should round enclose,
Would I be thereof ought a-dred.
Vp Lord and shield me from disgrace:
For thou hast broke my foe-mens face,
And all the wickeds teeth hast shed.

From thee O God is safe defence;
Do thou thy free beneficence
Vpon thy people largely spred.