Псалтирь 120
120
A song of high degrees. When I was in trouble I called vpon God: and he hearde me.
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Deliuer my soule O God from false lyppes: & from a deceiptful tongue.
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What doth a deceiptfull tongue vnto thee? what good bryngeth it thee?
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So much as sharpe arrowes of a strong man in thy sydes: with Iuniper coales powred on thy head.
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Wo be vnto me that am constrayned to be conuersaunt in Mesech: and to dwell among the tentes of Cedar.
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My soule hath dwelt long: with hym that hateth peace.
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I am a man of peace: but because I do speake therof, they prepare them selues to battayle.