Sidneian Psalms: Psalm 3

Domine, quid multiplicati?

Lord, how do they increase
That hatefull never cease
         To breed my grievous trouble?
How many ones there be
That all against poor me
         Their numerous strength redouble?

Even multitudes be they
That to my soul do saye
         No help for you remaineth
In God, on whom you build.
Yet, Lord, thou art my shield;
         In thee my glorie raigneth.

The Lord lifts up my head ;
To him my voice I spread;
         From holy hill he heard me:
I laid mo downe and slept,
While he me safelie kept,
         And safe from sleepe I rear'd me.

I will not be afraid,
Though legions round be laide,
         Which all against me gather:
I say no more but this,
Up, Lord, now time it is,
         Help me, my God, and Father!

For thou, with cruel blows
On jawbone of my foes,
         My causelesse wrong hast wroken;
Thou those men's teeth which bite,
Venomed with godlesse spight,
         Hast in their malice broken.

Salvation doth belong
Unto the Lord most strong;
         He it is that defendeth:
And on those blessed same
Which beare his people's name
         His blessing he extendeth.