Words: Brady and Tate, A New Version of the Psalms of David
1 O Lord, my rock, to thee I cry, in sighs consume my breath; O answer, or I shall become like those that sleep in death. 2 Regard my supplication, Lord, the cries that I repeat, With weeping eyes and lifted hands before thy mercy seat. 3 Let me escape the sinners' doom, who make a trade of ill; And ever speak the person fair, whose blood they mean to spill. 4 According to their crimes' extent let justice have its course: Relentless be to them as they have sinned without remorse. 5 Since they the works of God despise, nor will his grace adore; His wrath shall utterly destroy, and build them up no more. 6 But I, with due acknowledgment, his praises will resound, From whom the cries of my distress a gracious answer found. 7 My heart its confidence reposed in God, my strength and shield; In him I trusted, and returned triumphant from the field. As he hath made my joys complete, 'tis just that I should raise The cheerful tribute of my thanks, and thus resound his praise. 8 "His aiding pow'r supports the troops that my just cause maintain: T'was he advanced me to the throne, 'tis he secures my reign." 9 Preserve thy chosen, and proceed thine heritage to bless; With plenty prosper them in peace; in battle with success.