Aug. 9. <br />When He Fled From Absalom. <br /> <br /> <br />Lord how many are my foes <br />How many those <br />That in arms against me rise <br />Many are they <br />That of my life distrustfully thus say, <br />No help for him in God there lies. <br />But thou Lord art my shield my glory, <br />Thee through my story <br />Th' exalter of my head I count <br />Aloud I cry'd <br />Unto Jehovah, he full soon reply'd <br />And heard me from his holy mount. <br />I lay and slept, I wak'd again, <br />For my sustain <br />Was the Lord. Of many millions <br />The populous rout <br />I fear not though incamping round about <br />They pitch against me their Pavillions. <br />Rise Lord, save me my God for thou <br />Hast smote ere now <br />On the cheek-bone all my foes, <br />Of men abhor'd <br />Hast broke the teeth. This help was from the Lord; <br />Thy blessing on thy people flows.<br /><br />John Milton<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/psalm-03/
