Help Lord

Now for the bitter sighing of the poor,

The lord hath said, I will no more forbear,

The wicked's kingdom to invade and scour,

And set at large the men restrain'd in fear.

And sure, the word of God is pure, and fine.

And in the trial never loseth weight;

Like noble gold, which, since it left the mine,

Hath seven times passed through the fiery straight.

And now thou wilt not first thy word forsake,

Nor yet the righteous man, that leans thereto;

But will't his safe protection undertake,

In spite of all, their force and wiles can do.

And time it is, O Lord, thou didst draw nigh,

The wicked daily do enlarge their bands;

And that, which makes them follow ill a vie,

Rule is betaken to unworthy hands.