A Song or Psalme of Thanksgiving, in remembrance of our
great deliverance from the Gun-powder Treason, the fift of November,
1605.
|
O Lord we have continuall cause
|
thy mercies to remember:
|
For thou hast bin our God and guide,
|
our Keeper and Defender.
|
Delivering us from those Attempts,
|
that wicked men have sought
|
Against thy truth, against thy Saints,
|
to bring them unto nought.
|
Amongst the great Deliverances,
|
thou hast this Land affoorded,
|
There is one chiefe, that doth deserve
|
in heart to be recorded.
|
O let us not forget good Lord,
|
but grant we may remember,
|
What thou didst do for us and ours,
|
the fift day of November.
|
That when we on our beds did rest,
|
the night before secure:
|
Next day prepared was for us,
|
great sorrowes to endure.
|
When that our King, Queene, Prince & Peeres,
|
our commons chiefe and best;
|
In Parliament should meet to make:
|
good Lawes to guide the rest:
|
A hellish blast with powder mad,
|
from under them should rise,
|
To cast them up into the aire,
|
betwixt the earth and skies.
|
When as in health and strength they were,
|
and danger none did feare,
|
A hideous cracke and cruell blow,
|
in peeces them should teare.
|
No cruell beast more eager then,
|
and greedier of his pray,
|
Then Antichrist his priests and slaves,
|
were of our lives that day.
|
They thought our ruine to have wrought,
|
in twinckling of an eye.
|
But God our great Deliverer,
|
this mischiefe did descry.
|
And when that they the spoile did thinke,
|
amongst them to devide:
|
The high and mighty Lord of hoasts,
|
their counsels did deride:
|
By making James, our royall King,
|
so quicke in apprehension,
|
As to discover and prevent
|
Romes Divels deepe intention.
|
So that the net and snare is broke,
|
Hels counsell is reveled:
|
That from the ages for to come,
|
it may not be concealed.
|
Now we that live may sing a Psalme
|
of praise and thankes to him:
|
And where that they with shame did end,
|
with joy we may begin,
|
And say, O Lord to thee alone,
|
alone to thee O Lord,
|
The Praise is due, the praise is due,
|
even all with on accord.
|
Nothing there was in us that did
|
deserve this love of thee:
|
It was thy love and mercie great,
|
bestowed on us most free.
|
It was thy love unto thy name,
|
and to thy Saints most deare,
|
That mov'd thee thus to deale with us,
|
in danger when we were.
|
Even while we live, we will confesse,
|
to thy eternall praise,
|
That by this great Deliverance wrought,
|
thou hast renewed our daies:
|
And given us time for to repent,
|
and to amend our lives:
|
And of thy mercies manifold
|
the higher for to prize.
|
O let the practise of these men,
|
against thy children deare,
|
Make us to hate their wicked wayes,
|
and thee the more to feare.
|
And grant that we may still detest
|
that doctrine and that sinne,
|
That teacheth us to eate our God,
|
and eke to kill our King.
|
And evermore whil'st that our lives
|
and breath in us doth last,
|
To lay up in our hearts thy law,
|
and there to keepe it fast:
|
That by the same we may be kept
|
from errors grosse and nought,
|
Untill we have obtain'd that crowne,
|
that Christ for us hath bought.
|
Lord blesse thy Church, preserve our King,
|
the Prince and Race royall:
|
Prolong their dayes, make them the meanes
|
of Antichrists downfall.
|
|
|
|
|
|