James Merrick Psalm 69

James Merrick Psalm 69

To thee I call; O haste thee near,
 * My voice, great God, indulgent hear;

Extend thy powerful arm, and save
 * My soul from the voracious wave.

In depths of mire behold me bound;
 * In vain my sinking feet the ground

Explore; while high above my head
 * The whelming floods their billows spread.

Faint are my limbs, my palate dry,
 * While ceaseless to my God I cry;

With wasting orbs my eyes attend
 * To see his promis'd grace descend.

Behold my Foes around me spread,
 * The hairs that shade my hapless head

Outnumb'ring; foes, that, arm'd with pow'r,
 * My soul have labour'd to devour,

Yet pure of each offence I stand,
 * Plight to their terms my willing hand,

Nor shun (extortion's easy prey,)
 * The wrong-imputed debt to pay.

To thee, my God, to thee alone
 * The errors of my heart are known:

Thine eyes my inmost guilt have view'd,
 * Nor can my thought thy search elude.

O let not, heav'nly Lord, thine aid
 * Thus long to my request delay'd

Their hope to hostile scorn consign,
 * Whose hearts on Israel's God recline.

Thy cause, by me avow'd, my fame
 * To insult gives, my cheek to shame:

The impious mockers on me gaze,
 * Each eye, each lip contempt betrays.

Domestic wrath and kindred hate,
 * In thy defence, my soul await;

The brothers of my blood in me
 * An alien and an outcast see.

The zeal that to thy house I bear
 * My soul consumes; each taunt severe

That loud-tongu'd rage for thee intends,
 * On me with fullest weight descends.

Dissolv'd in tears, with fasting worn,
 * What obloquy my soul has borne!

My loins with sorrow's garb o'erspread
 * With jests their cruel fancy fed:

I pass the crowded gate, pursu'd
 * By laughter and reproaches rude,

The proverb of the drunkard's tongue,
 * And theme familiar of his song.

O let me in th'accepted hour
 * In pray'r to thee my spirit pour;

Thine ear in full accordance bend,
 * And pleas'd thy promis'd help extend.

Snatch from the miry depths my feet;
 * Back let my furious foes retreat;

Safe from their hate thy servant keep,
 * Nor leave him sinking in the deep.

O then the swelling storm assuage,
 * E'er yet the flood's remorseless rage

In dreadful whirlpools wrap me round,
 * And plunge me in the dark profound.

Hear, Lord, and to my soul display
 * Thy mercy's all-enliv'ning ray;

Look down, eternal God, look down,
 * Behold me, but without a frown:

Nor to thy servant's longing eye
 * Thy face, amidst my woes, deny.

Haste to my aid, O haste thee near,
 * Release my soul from hostile fear.

Thine ears have heard each insult keen
 * Thine eyes, just Lord, my shame have seen,

And stedfast mark'd the adverse band,
 * That leagu'd in guilt around me stand.

My soul, by evil tongues assail'd,
 * Unequal to the conflict fail'd:

I wish'd, in vain, some friend to find,
 * Whose voice might soothe my troubled mind.

These, 'mid the crowd that wait me nigh,
 * Gall to my lothing lips apply;

While these my thirst's afflictive rage
 * With juice of sharpest taste assuage.

While pleas'd the social board they share,
 * Let Death around it plant a snare,

And what should bliss and health bestow
 * With aim inverted work their woe.

Let blindness check their fell designs,
 * Bow with affliction's weight their loins,

And let thy wrath, with loosen'd rein,
 * Descending crush the rebel train.

Let horror and destruction drear
 * Amid their tents the standard rear,

Nor human habitant be found
 * Within their dome's capacious round:

Since, unprovok'd, with murth'rous view,
 * Whom thou hast smitten they pursue,

And seek, instinct with cruel joy,
 * The man of sorrows to destroy.

Let each (for nought their hearts could bend)
 * From depth to depth in sin descend,

Ne'er, touch'd by healing mercy, see
 * The path that leads to bliss and thee;

Let vengeance, kindled to a flame,
 * Blot from the earth their hateful name,

Nor let them, 'mid thy chosen band,
 * In life's fair page recorded stand.

And O! while press'd with ills I lie,
 * Cast on my state a pitying eye,

And let thy mercy to my grief
 * In full sufficience yield relief.

For this to thee my voice I rear;
 * Nor shall the hoof'd and horned steer,

New draughted from the fat'ning field,
 * A sacrifice so grateful yield.

Ye humble souls, that seek his aid,
 * His love, in my release display'd,

His love your dying hearts shall chear,
 * Who stoops the helpless poor to hear.

O praise him, heav'n, and seas, and earth,
 * And all whom nature wakes to birth:

Him praise, who Sion deigns to shield,
 * Whose hand shall Judah's cities build:

He bids her sons the land divide,
 * Where unmolested shall reside,

Through rolling time's extended year,
 * A race devoted to his fear.