Psalm 141

Words: Brady and  Tate, A New Version of the Psalms of David


   1  To thee, O Lord, my cries ascend,
         O haste to my relief;
      And with accustomed pity hear
         the accents of my grief.
   2  Instead of off'rings, let my pray'r
         like morning incense rise;
      My lifted hands supply the place
         of ev'ning sacrifice.
   3  From hasty language curb my tongue,
         and let a constant guard
      Still keep the portal of my lips,
         with wary silence barred.
   4  From wicked men's designs and deeds
         my heart and hands restrain
      Nor let me in the booty share
         of their unrighteous gain.
   5  Let upright men reprove my faults,
         and I shall think them kind;
      Like balm that heals a wounded head,
         I their reproof shall find.
      And, in return, my fervent pray'r
         I shall for them address,
      When they are tempted and reduced,
         like me, to sore distress.
   6  When skulking in En-gedi's rock
         I to their chiefs appeal,
      If one reproachful word I spoke,
         When I had pow'r to kill.
   7  Yet us they persecute to death;
         our scattered ruins lie
      As thick as from the hewer's axe
         the severed splinters fly.
   8  But, Lord, to thee I still direct
         my supplicating eyes;
      O leave not destitute my soul,
         whose trust on thee relies.
   9  Do thou preserve me from the snares
         that wicked hands have laid:
      Let them in their own nets be caught,
         while my escape is made.

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Page last modified on: 07/29/2004