PSALM CXLI.

Tate and Brady

2 Instead of off'rings, let my prayer
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 barr'd.

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 reduc'd,
Like me, to sore distress.

6 When sculking 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 scatter'd ruins lie
As thick as from the hewer's axe
The sever'd 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.