Words: Brady and Tate, A New Version of the Psalms of David
1 How num'rous, Lord, of late are grown the troublers of my peace! And, as their numbers hourly rise, so does their rage increase. 2 Insulting they my soul upbraid, and him whom I adore; The God in whom he trusts, say they, shall rescue him no more. 3 But thou, O Lord, art my defense; on thee my hopes rely; Thou art my glory, and shalt yet lift up my head on high. 4 Since whensoe'er in like distress to God I made my pray'r, He heard me from his holy hill, why should I now despair? 5 Guarded by him, I laid me down my sweet repose to take; For I through him securely sleep, through him in safety wake. 6 No force nor fury of my foes my courage shall confound, Were they as many hosts as men that have beset me round. 7 Arise and save me, O my God, who oft hast owned my cause, And scattered oft these foes to me, and to thy righteous laws. 8 Salvation to the Lord belongs, he only can defend; His blessing he extends to all that on his pow'r depend.