1 Blest is the man, who'll not the poor despise,
But to his aid with swift companion flies;
Him with abundant mercy will repay
Th' all-high, and chase his sorrows far away.
2 From foes, from perils he'll his soul defend,
And grant him joys, that but with life will end,
In peace, in opulence, he'll bid him live,
And all the blessings of his earth he'll give.
3 And when some dire disease surrounds his head,
When racking pains confine him to his bed,
His bed he'll ease, his fainting soul sustain,
To health restore him, and drive off his pain.
4 For, when with violence of pain opprest,
I to my God this faithful pray'r addrest:
"All-clement Lord, let me thy mercy feel,
"My soul, with dire offences wounded, heal;
5 "Of unrepented sin I feel the force;
"My foes with bitter imprecations curse;
"When shall oblivion veil his name (they cry)
"When will he breathe no more? when will he die?
6 "And if they visit me, and view my pain,
"Grief in their clouded countenance they feign;
"While inward joy dilates their villain-heart;
"Which strait breaks out, when from my side they part.
7 "In secret, see, th' inveterate factions herd;
"'Gainst me they whisper slanders most absurd;
"'Gainst me with unrelenting hate conspire;
"Big with proud hopes to compass their desire.
8 "Now, when they see me with my suff'rings spent,
"Surely (they say) from heav'n his pains are sent,
"Struck by the arrows of his God, he lies;
"Shades him eternal night; he dies he dies.
9 "Nay; e'en my friend, who long my heart had known,
"And made my table and my home his own,
"'Gainst me has with invet'rate malice rose,
"Ingrateful leaves me, and assists my foes.
10 "But thou, O God, whom long I've made my hope,
"From my 'lorn bed, benignant, raise me up;
"Thy love in my recovery display,
"That I their villain-hatred may repay."
11 Thus I implor'd, nor I implor'd in vain;
Thou didst, O God, my sinking soul sustain;
Me to my wonted health didst thou restore,
And mad'st my foes to give their triumphs o'er.
12 Fresh vigour to my frame didst thou impart,
Preserv'dst in innocence my drooping heart,
My steps supported'st by thy hand divine,
And on thy David bad'st thy presence shine.
13 For this great boon let Israels God be prais'd,
Eternal altars to his name be rais'd;
O'er all the scatter'd nations let him reign;
From age to age be blest our God. Amen.
Source: New Version of the Psalms of David #XLI
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|New Version of the Psalms of David #XLI||Blest is the man, who'll not the poor despise||Blest is the man, who'll not the poor despise||Psalm 41||1756|