Words: Brady and Tate, A New Version of the Psalms of David
1 Thy dreadful anger, Lord, restrain, and spare a wretch forlorn; Correct me not in thy fierce wrath, too heavy to be borne.
2 Have mercy, Lord, for I grow faint, unable to endure, The anguish of my aching bones, which thou alone can cure.
3 My tortured flesh distracts my mind, and fills my soul with grief; But, Lord, how long will thou delay to grant me thy relief?
4 Thy wonted goodness, Lord, repeat, and ease my troubled soul; Lord, for thy wondrous mercy's sake vouchsafe to make me whole.
5 For after death no more can I thy glorious acts proclaim; No pris'ner of the silent grave can magnify thy name.
6 Quite tired with pain, with groaning faint, no hope of ease I see; The night, that quiets common griefs, is spent in tears by me.
7 My beauty fades, my sight grows dim, my eyes with weakness close; Old age o'ertakes me, while I think on my insulting foes.
8 Depart, you wicked, in my wrongs you shall no more rejoice; for god, I find, accepts my tears, and listens to my voice.
9,10 He hears and grants my humble pray'r; and they that wish my fall, Shall blush and rage to see that God protects me from them all.