Prayse the LORDE o my soule: O LORDE my God, thou art become exceadinge glorious, thou art clothed with maiesty and honoure.

Thou deckest thy self with light, as it were wt a garment, thou spredest out the heauen like a curtayne.

Thou voltest it aboue with waters, thou makest the cloudes thy charet, and goest vpon the wynges of the wynde.

Thou makest thine angels spretes, and thy ministers flammes of fyre.

Thou hast layed ye earth vpon hir foundacion, that it neuer moueth at eny tyme.

Thou couerest it with the depe like as with a garmet, so that the waters stonde aboue the hilles.

But at thy rebuke they fle, at the voyce of thy thonder they are afrayed.

Then are the hilles sene alofte, & the valleys beneth in their place which thou hast appoynted for the.

Thou hast set them their boundes, which they maie not passe, that they turne not agayne to couer ye earth.

Thou causest the welles to sprynge vp amonge the valleys, and the waters runne amonge ye hilles.

That all the beastes of the felde maye haue drynke, & that the wylde asses maye quench their thyrste.

Aboue vpon the hilles haue the foules of the ayre their habitacion, and synge amonge the braunches.

Thou watrest the hylles from aboue, the erth is fylled with ye frutes of thy workes.

Thou bryngest forth grasse for the catell, and grene herbe for the seruyce of men.

Thou bryngest fode out of the earth: wyne to make glad ye herte of ma, oyle to make him a chearfull countenaunce, & bred to strength mans herte.

The trees of the LORDE are full of sappe, euen the trees of Libanus which he hath planted.

There make the byrdes their nestes, and the fyrre trees are a dwellinge for the storcke.

The hilles are a refuge for the wylde goates, and so are the stony rockes for ye conyes.

Thou hast appoynted the Moone for certayne seasons, the Sonne knoweth his goinge downe.

Thou makest darcknesse, that it maye be night, wherin all the beastes of the forest do moue.

Yee and the yonge lyons which roare after the praye, and seke their meate at God.

But when the Sonne ariseth, they get them awaye together, and lye them downe in their dennes.

Then goeth man forth to his worke, and to till his londe vntill the euenynge.

O LORDE, how manifolde are thy workes, right wysely hast thou made the all: yee the earth is full of thy riches.

So is this greate and wyde see also, wherin are thinges crepinge innumerable, both small and greate beastes.

There go the shippes ouer, and there is that Leuiathan, whom thou hast made, to take his pastyme therin.

They wayte all vpo the, that thou mayest geue them meate in due season.

Whe thou geuest it them, they gather it: whe thou openest thine honde, they are fylled with good.

But when thou hydest thy face, they are soroufull: yf thou takest awaye their breth, they dye, & are turned agayne to their dust.

Agayne, when thou lattest thy breth go forth, they are made, and so thou renuest the face of the earth.

The glorious magesty of the LORDE endureth for euer, and the LORDE reioyseth in his workes.

The earth trebleth at the loke of him, he doth but touch ye hilles and they smoke.

I will synge vnto the LORDE as longe as I lyue, I wil prayse my God whyle I haue my beinge.

O that my wordes might please him, for my ioye is in the LORDE.

As for synners, they shalbe cosumed out of the earth, and the vngodly shal come to an ende: but prayse thou the LORDE, o my soule. Halleluya.