Great(i)
1 A psalme of Dauid when he fledd from the face of Absalon hys sonne. Lord, howe are they increased, that trouble me? many are they, that ryse against me.
2 Many one there be, that saye of my soule: there is no helpe for hym in God. Sela.
3 But thou O Lorde, arte my defender: thou arte my worshyppe, and the lyfter vp of my heed.
4 I did call vpon the Lorde with my voyce, and he hearde me out of hys holy hyll. Sela.
5 I layed me downe and slepte, and rose vp agayne, for the Lorde susteyned me.
6 I will not be afrayde for ten thousandes of the people, that haue set them selues agaynst me rounde about.
7 Up Lorde, & helpe me, O my God, for thou smyttest all myne enemyes vpon the cheke bone: thou hast broken the teeth of the vngodly.
8 Saluacyon belongeth vnto the Lorde, and thy blessynge is vpon thy people. Selah.