XLIV. Francis Davison

FROM deepe gulphes of misfortune,

Orewhelm’d with miseries,

Lord, I thine aid importune

With neuer-ceasing cries.

Oh heare my lamentation,

Oh view my restles teares,

And to my supplication

Bow downe attentiue eares.

My manifold abuses

If thou behold in ire,

Lord, I haue no excuses

To ’scape eternall fire.

But since with true contrition

My sins I wayle and blame,

Lord, saue me from perdition,

To feare and praise thy name.

Lord, thou art all my comfort,

My soule’s sure prop and sheild;

My hopes in my discomfort

Still on thy word I build.

My soule, base earth despising,

More longs with God to be,

Than rosie morning’s rising

Tyr’d watchmen watch to see.

Lay thy hope’s sure foundation

On God, O Israëll;

On God, in whom saluation

And boundles mercie dwell.

The leaprous spots that stayn thee

He then will purifie;

Syn’s fetters, that enchayn thee,

He gently will vntie.