PSALM CXL.

Tate and Brady

3 Their sland'ring tongue the serpent's sting
In sharpness does exceed;
Between their lips the gall of asps
And adders' venom breed.

4 Preserve me, Lord, from wicked hands,
Nor leave my soul forlorn,
A prey to sons of violence,
Who have my ruin sworn.

5 The proud for me have laid their snare,
And spread their wily net;
With traps and gins, where'er I move,
I find my steps beset.

6 But thus environ'd with distress,
Thou art my God, I said;
Lord, hear my supplicating voice,
That calls to thee for aid.

7 O Lord, the God, whose saving strength
Kind succour did convey,
And cover'd my advent'rous head
In battle's doubtful day:

8 Permit not their unjust designs
To answer their desire;
Lest they, encourag'd by success,
To bolder crimes aspire.

9 Let first their chiefs the sad effects
Of their injustice mourn:
The blast of their envenom'd breath
Upon themselves return.

10 Let them who kindled first the flame
Its sacrifice become;
The pit they digg'd for me be made
Their own untimely tomb.

11 Though slander's breath may raise a storm,
It quickly will decay;
Their rage does but the torrent swell
That bears themselves away.

12 God will assert the poor man's cause,
And speedy succour give;
The just shall celebrate his praise,
And in his presence live.