The 30th Psalm, A Thanksgiving For Deliverance Out Of Trouble Poem by Rees Prichard

From dust and dirt, where low I lay,
From crowds, from mire, from clogging clay,
Thou didst, O Lord, thy servant raise;
Thy name I'll therefore ever praise.

Thou didst the triumphs of my foes,
And all their well-plann'd schemes oppose,
When I cou'd not their rage repress:
So very deep was my distress!

I call'd, O Lord, upon thy name,
Lest I shou'd to the pit with shame,
Be thrown - thou didst attend my cry,
And sent'st me succour from on high.

Thou didst preserve my soul from hell,
That with the damn'd I might not dwell;
Thou didst my feeble body save
From all the horrors of the grave.

Men, saints and angels, then, accord
To chant the praises of the Lord -
The praises of the Trinity,
Who dealt so graciously by me.

His anger but a little space
Endures - but his all-saving grace
Does life exceed: grief lasts the night ;
But joy dawns with the morning light.

Whilst I enjoy'd the world at will,
I said - 'I ne'er shall suffer ill;
'My pleasures nothing can remove;
'I still shall lead the life I love.'

Thus I presum'd, and boasted long,
As thou hadst made my hill so strong -
'Till, angry at my sinful pride,
Thou turn'st thy countenance aside.

Soon as thou didst avert thy face,
Because of my neglect of grace,
I hourly fell to some distress,
More dire than language can express.

I then did earnestly complain,
And humbly cry to thee again,
That thou wou'dst pity take betimes,
And pardon me my countless crimes.

What profit is there in my blood,
O Lord - I argu'd - or what good
Flows thence? what glory canst thou have
From me - when I am in my grave?

Can senseless clay thy name applaud,
Or, rightly worship thee, my God!
Can I thy truth with language fit
Exalt, when buri'd in the pit?

Take then some pity on my grief,
And quickly grant to me relief -
To me, who now, without thy grace,
Am in a miserable case.

It comes, it comes - the wish'd relief!
Thou hast to joy turn'd all my grief -
My sackcloth thou hast stripp'd away,
And made the mourner blithe and gay.

On which account, most gracious God,
All worthy men shall thee applaud;
And I to theirs will join my song,
Because thou didst my life prolong!