PSALM XXXII. 2d Meetre

O Blessed Man, whom God forgives, And covers all his Sin; To whom the Lord imputes no Guilt, Who's free from Guile within. While I refus'd to own my Crime, The Horror in my Breast, Dry'd up my Bones; I roar'd all Day, And found no quiet Rest. For Day, and Night, thine awful Hand, Heavy upon me beat; My Moisture dry'd, as Ground that's parch'd, With Summer's scorching Heat. I then resolv'd no more to hide, My Sin, but freely own My Fault to God; and thou forgav'st The Guilt of what I'd done. The Godly hence, in Season, shall To Thee pour out his Soul; Then tho' great Water-Floods should rage, None over him shall rowl. Thou art my hiding Place, where I, From Harm, shall shelter'd be; With Songs of thy Deliv'rance, thou Shalt round encompass me.