Part I.

My verse shall in Thy praises flow,
Lord, Thou hast rais'd my head on high;
Nor suffer'd the proud enemy
To triumph in my overthrow.

I cried aloud: Thy arm did save,
Thou drew'st me from the shades of death,
Repealing my exiled breath,
When almost swallow'd by the grave.

You saints of his, O sing His praise,
Present your vows unto the Lord;
His perfect holiness record,
Whose wrath but for a moment stays.

His quick'ning favour life bestows,
Tears may continue for a night;
But joy springs with the morning light.
Long-lasting joys, soon-ending woes.

Part II.

In my prosperity I said,
My feet shall ever fix'd abide;
I, by Thy favour fortifi'd,
Am like a steadfast mountain made.

But when Thou hid'st Thy cheerful Face,
How infinite my troubles grew;
My cries then with my grief renew,
Which thus implor'd Thy saving grace.

What profit can my blood afford,
When I shall to the grave descend?
Can senseless dust Thy praise extend?
Can death Thy living truth record?

To my complaints attentive be,
Thy mercy in my aid advance;
O perfect my deliverance,
That have no other hope but Thee!

Thou, Lord, hast made th' afflicted glad;
My sorrow into dancing turn'd:
The sack-cloth torn wherein I mourn'd,
And me in Tyrian purple clad:

That so my glory might proclaim
Thy favours in a joyful verse;
Incessantly Thy praise rehearse,
And magnify Thy sacred Name.