Prayse the LORDE (o my soule:) whyle I lyue wil I prayse the LORDE, yee as loge as I haue eny beynge, I wil synge prayses vnto my God.

O put not yor trust in prynces, ner in the childe of man, for there is no helpe in the.

For when ye breth of man goeth forth, he shal turne agayne to his earth, and so all his thoughtes perishe.

Blessed is he that hath ye God of Iacob for his helpe, and whose hope is in the LORDE his God.

Which made heauen and earth, ye see and all that therin is, which kepeth his promise for euer

Which helpeth them to right yt suffre wronge, which fedeth ye hongrie.

The LORDE lowseth men out of preson, the LORDE geueth sight to the blynde.

The LORDE helpeth the vp that are fallen, the LORDE loueth the righteous.

The LORDE careth for the straungers, he defendeth ye fatherlesse and wyddowe: as for the waye of ye vngodly, he turneth it vpsyde downe.

The LORDE thy God (o Sion) is kynge for euermore, and thorow out all generacions. Halleluya.