David Playing the Harp.
Jacob Jordaens, 17thC.

Psalm 75 :   Confitebimur Tibi [unpublished]

Wee O God to thee do sing Wee to thee do prayses bring         For thy name is nigh When our cause assistance needs         Us with succour to supply Therfore saved wondrously We recount thy wondrous deeds. As for me, when so they shall Under my direction fall         Who to me pertain Righteous doome shall banish wrong         This loose hand I will again         Into sounder site restrain, I will make her Pillars strong. I will say to braggards then Bragg no more to wicked men,         Set not up your horn, Set not up your horn on high         Be no more perversely born         Onward with rebellious scorn, Thus to speak repiningly! East when climing sun ascends West when sliding sun descends         South his standing tide Can to no man honour bring         Only God who all doth guide         Makes men climb, or stand or slide Makes the caitife and the King; Then not me, God you understand Him whose ever right right hand         Holds a filled cupp: Not of wine by winy lees         Of the which they all shall supp;         Supp said I, nay suck it up Whom unjust his justice sees. So then I will spend my dayes In recording still his prayse         Still my song shall flow From the land of Jacobs God.         I will crop ill doers low         I will make well-doers grow Spreading branches from abroad.

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