Words: Brady and Tate, A New Version of the Psalms of David
1 My crafty foe, with flattr'ing art, his wicked purpose would disguise But reason whispers to my heart, he ne'er sets God before his eyes. 2 He soothes himself, retired from sight, secure he thinks his treach'rous game Till his dark plots, exposed to light, their false contriver brand with shame. 3 In deeds he is my foe confessed, Whilst with his tongue he speaks me fair; True wisdom's banished from his breast, and vice has sole dominion there. 4 His wakeful malice spends the night in forging his accursed designs; His obstinate ungen'rous spite no execrable means declines. 5 But, Lord, thy mercy, my sure hope, above the heav'nly orb ascends; Thy sacred truth's unmeasured scope beyond the spreading sky extends. 6 Thy justice, like the hills, remains; unfathomed depths thy judgments are; Thy providence the world sustains; the whole creation is thy care. 7 Since of thy goodness all partake, with what assurance should the just Thy shelt'ring wings their refuge make, and saints to thy protection trust. 8 Such guests shall to thy courts be led to banquet on thy love's repast; And drink, as from a fountain's head, of joys that shall for ever last. 9 With thee the springs of life remain; thy presence is eternal day: 10 O! let thy saints thy favor gain; to upright hearts thy truth display. 11 Whilst pride's insulting foot would spurn, and wicked hands my life surprise; 12 Their mischiefs on themselves return; down, down they're fall'n, no more to rise.