Псалтирь 42
Like as the hert desyreth the water brokes, so longeth my soule after the, o God. My soule is a thurste for God, yee eue for the lyuynge God: wha shal I come, & beholde the face of God?
My teares are my meate daye and night, whyle it is daylie sayde vnto me: where is now thy God?
Now when I thinke there vpo, I poure out my hert by my self: for I wolde fayne go hence with the multitude, & passe ouer with them vnto the house of God, in ye voyce of prayse & thankesgeuynge, amonge soch as kepe holy daye.
Why art thou so full of heuynes (o my soule) & why art thou so vnquiete within me?
O put thy trust in God, for I wil yet geue him thankes, for the helpe of his countenauce.
My God, my soule is vexed within me: therfore I remebre the londe of Iordane, & the litle hill of Hermonim. One depe calleth another wt the voyce of thy whystles, all thy wawes & water floudes are gone ouer me.
The LORDE hath promised his louynge kyndnesse daylie, therfore wil I prayse him in the night season, and make my prayer vnto ye God of my life.
I wil saye vnto God my stony rock: why hast thou forgotten me? why go I thus heuely, whyle the enemie oppresseth me?
Whyle my bones are broken, & whyle myne enemies cast me in the tethe,
daylie sayenge vnto me: where is now thy God?
Why art thou so heuy (o my soule) & why art thou so disquieted within me? O put thy trust in God, for I wil yet thanke him for the helpe of his countenaunce, and because he is my God.