Words: Brady and Tate, A New Version of the Psalms of David
1 In deep distress I oft have cried to God, who never yet denied To rescue me, oppressed with wrongs. 2 Once more, O Lord, deliv'rance send, from lying lips my soul defend, And from the rage of sland'ring tongues.
3 What little profit can accrue, and yet what heavy wrath is due, O thou perfidious tongue, to thee! 4 Thy sting upon thyself shall turn; of lasting flames that fiercely burn, The constant fuel thou shalt be.
5 But O how wretched is my doom, who am a sojourner become In barren Mesech's desert soil! With Kedar's wicked tents enclosed, to lawless savages exposed, Who live on naught but theft and spoil.
6 My hapless dwelling is with those who peace and amity oppose, And pleasure take in others' harms: 7 Sweet peace is all I court and seek; but when to them of peace I speak, They straight cry out, "To arms, to arms!"