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Psal 42 (MS. Fairfax 40, The Bodleian Libraries, University of Oxford, fols. 1–2)


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Psal 42
Psal 42
"Psal 42". MS. Fairfax 40, The Bodleian Libraries, University of Oxford, fols. 1–2.

Transcription

Like as the Hart that's hotly chast
The watter brooke doe panting seeke
So doth my soul wth sighings wast
Till god my Sauour itt doe meet

For god the liuing god my soule
In ardent thirstings pine away
And longing thoughts about itt roule
To come aafore him I may know the day

For day & night my meat hath beene
Halfe broken sights in salt teares sod
Whilst wicked men do proudly deeme
Me quitt forsaken of my god

When to my thoughts these things did come
How sadly doth't my soule deiect
Who gladly am[?] to thy Temple rune
Wth multitudes thy prayses to t'erect

Why art thou then cast downe my soule
And frettest thus wthin my brest
To prayse thy god yitt be thou bold
His countinance shal giue thee rest

Lord what soule greefes I haue thou knows
Yitt stil remember thee I will
From land wher firtill Jordan flowes
And top of Herman's shady hill

When deepe on deepe doth loudly call
Thyn Aqueducts ther streames sent outt
So on me did thy billowes fall
And waues incompast me aboutt

Yit wil the Lord com˜and for me
His kindness in the day time ther
And in the night his songs shall be
The subiect of my thankfull prayre

Then wil I say to god my rocke
In sadness thus why doe I goe
Why hast thou me thus quite forgott
Whilst I'me opressed of my foe

Reproach & scorne they on me layd
As swordes into my bowels thrust
Whilst vnto me they daly say
Wher is thy god in whom thou trusts

But why art thou cast downe my soule
And thus disquieted in my brest
To prayse thy god yitt be thou bold
His countinance shall giue the rest

Modernized Text

Like as the hart that's hotly chased
The water brook do panting seek,
So doth my soul with sighings waste
Till God my Saviour it do meet.

For God, the living God, my soul
In ardent thirstings pine[s] away
And longing thoughts about it roll
To come afore him I may know the day.

For day and night my meat hath been
Half broken sights in salt teares sod,
Whilst wicked men do proudly deem
Me quite forsaken of my God.

When to my thoughts these things did come,
How sadly doth't my soule deject
Who gladly to thy temple run
With multitudes thy praise t'erect.

Why art thou then cast downe my soul
And frettest thus within my breast?
To prayse thy God yet be thou bold:
His countenance shal give thee rest.

Lord what soul griefs I have thou knows,
Yet still remember thee I will
From land where fertile Jordan flows
And top of Herman's shady hill.

When deep on deep doth loudly call,
Thine aqueducts their streams sent out,
So on me did thy billows fall
And waves encompassed me about.

Yet will the Lord command for me
His kindness in the daytime there,
And in the night his songs shall be
The subject of my thankful prayer.

Then will I say to God my rock
In sadness thus why do I go?
Why hast thou me thus 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 trusts?

But why art thou cast down, my soul,
And thus disquieted in my breast?
To praise thy god yet be thou bold:
His countenance shall give the rest.

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