To Thee Allclement God I Constant Cry

To thee, all-clement God, I constant cry;
O hear me, and immediate aid supply:
‘Fore thee in pray’r when thy griev’d servant falls,
And on thy name with hands uplifted calls;
Hear him, as when with incense he adores,
And the pure off’ring on thy altar pours.
By thy dread fear be still my tongue restrain’d,
Guard close my lips, that I not thee offend:
Preserve me steady in the perfect road,
That I with sinners ne’er blaspheme my God;
Never with them in horrid guilt combine,
But in their impious off’rings scorn to join.
Me rather smite the righteous and reprove;
I’ll count it all the kind result of love;
More welcome this, than when in flatt’ring guise,
With soothing speech, deceitful men entice.
When fall the wicked from their high estate,
And mourn their sad vicissitude of fate;
May they reflect, how friendly I advis’d,
The wholesome warnings that they late despis’d.
For me, thro’ terror of impending death,
Hang loose my shatter’d bones, and faint I breathe;
My bones are shatter’d like the tumbling oak,
That mourns it’s honours fall’n, it’s branches broke.
But thou, almighty God, that rul’st on high,
Thou art my hope; I on thy aid rely:
Defend my life from each insidious shhare,
From all the toils my cruel foes prepare:
Let me escape, while I, enraptur’d, see
Those foes destroy’d thro’ their own perfidy.