Psal 42 (MS. Fairfax 38, The Bodleian Libraries, University of Oxford)
Transcription
Like as the Hart that's Hottly chas't ⸗
To water brooks doth (pantinge) seeke ,
So doth my soule (with sighinge) wast ⸗
Till God my Sauio'ur itt doe meete ;
For God the liuinge God my soule ⸗
In ardent thirstings pine's away ,
And longinge thoughts about itt roule ⸗
T'Apeare before him all the Day ,
For day and night my meate hath bene ⸗
Half-broken sighs in salt-teares sodd ,
Whilst wicked men doe proudly deeme ⸗
Mee quite forsaken of my God ,
When to my thoughts these things doe come ⸗
How saddly they my soule deject ?
Who gladdly to thy Temple runne ⸗
(With Multituds) thy Praise t'erect
Why art thou then cast downe my soule !
And frettest thus within my Brest ?
To praise thy God yett be thou bould ⸗
His Countenance shall giue thee rest .
What soule-greif Lord haue I thou know'es ,
Yet still remember Thee I will ⸗
From land wher fertile Jordan flow'es ⸗
And topp of Herman's shady hill ,
When Deepe to Deepe doth loudly call ⸗
Thine Aquiducts their streams send out ,
Soe on me doth thy Billowes fall ⸗
And waues incompass me about ,⸗
Yet will the Lord com̃aund for me ⸗
His kindness in the day-time there ,
And in the Night his songes shalbe ⸗
The subject of my thankfull PraisePray're
Then will I say to God, My Rocke ⸗
In saddnes thus why doe I goe ?
Why hast thou thus Lord me quite forgott ⸗
Whilst I'me oppressed of my Foe ,
Reproach and shamescorne they on me lay ⸗
As swords into my bowells thrust ,
Whilst vnto me they daily say ⸗
Where is thy God, in whom thou trust ,
But why art Thou cast downe my soule ⸗
And thus despondinge in my Breast ,
To praise thy God yet be thou bould
His Countinance shall giue thee rest /
Modernized Text
Like as the hart that's hotly chased,
To water brooks doth (panting) seeke,
So doth my soul (with sighing) waste
Till God my Saviour it do meet;
For God, the living God, my soul
In ardent thirstings pines away,
And longing thoughts about it roll
T'appear before him all the day;
For day and night my meat hath been
Half-broken sighs in salt-tears sod,
Whilst wicked men do proudly deem
Me quite forsaken of my God.
When to my thoughts these things do come,
How sadly they my soul deject,
Who gladly to thy Temple run
(With multitudes) thy praise t'erect.
Why art thou then cast downe my soule!
And frettest thus within my breast?
To praise thy God yet be thou bold:
His countenance shall give thee rest.
What soul-grief, Lord, have I thou knows,
Yet still remember thee I will,
From land where fertile Jordan flows,
And top of Herman's shady hill.
When deep to deep doth loudly call,
Thine aquaducts their streams send out:
So on me doth thy billows fall
And waves encompass me about.
Yet will the Lord command for me
His kindness in the day-time there,
And in the night his songs shall be
The subject of my thankful pray'r
Then will I say to God, my rock,
In sadness thus why do I goe?
Why hast thou, Lord, me quite forgot
Whilst I'm oppresséd of my foe?
Reproach and scorn they on me lay,
As swords into my bowels thrust,
Whilst unto me they daily say,
"Where is thy God, in whom thou trust?"
But why art thou cast downe my soul
And thus disponding in my breast?
To praise thy God yet be thou bold:
His countenance shall give thee rest.
