EXODVS 15.
As the 8. Psalme.
THE Praise of our triumphant King
And of his Victory we sing:
Who in the Seas with horrid force
O'rethrew the Rider and his Horse.
My Strength, my God, my Argument,
My Fathers God, hath safety sent.
To him will I a Mansion raise;
There celebrate his glorious Praise.
His Sword hath won eternall fame;
And great Jehovah is his Name.
Lo Pharaoh's Chariots, his proud Hoast,
Are in the swallowing Billowes lost.
God, in the fathomlesse Profound,
Hath all his choice Commanders drown'd.
Downe sunk they, like a falling stone,
By raging Whirl-pits ovethrowne.
Thy pow'rfull Hand these VVonders wrought;
Our Foes by Thee to ruine brought.
Thou all that durst against thee fight
Hast crusht by thy prevailing Might.
Thy VVrath thy Foes to Cinders turnes,
As Fire the Sun-dri'd Stubble burnes.
[Part 2] Blowne by thy Nostrils breath, the Floud
In heaps, like solid Mountains, stood.