PSALM CXLIII.

Tate and Brady

2 Nor at thy strict tribunal bring
Thy servant to be tried;
For in thy sight no living man
Can e'er be justified.

3 The spiteful foe pursues my life,
Whose comforts all are fled;
He drives me into caves as dark
As mansions of the dead.

4 My spirit therefore is o'erwhelm'd,
And sinks within my breast;
My mournful heart grows desolate,
With heavy woes opprest.

5 I call to mind the days of old,
And wonders thou hast wrought:
My former dangers and escapes
Employ my musing thought.

6 To thee my hands in humble pray'r
I fervently stretch out;
My soul for thy refreshment thirsts,
Like land oppress'd with drought.

7 Hear me with speed; my spirit fails;
Thy face no longer hide,
Lest I become forlorn, like them
That in the grave reside.

8 Thy kindness early let me hear,
Whose trust on thee depends;
Teach me the way where I should go;
My soul to thee ascends.

9 Do thou, O Lord, from all my foes
Preserve and set me free;
A safe retreat against their rage
My soul implores from thee.

10 Thou art my God, thy righteous will
Instruct me to obey;
Let thy good Spirit lead and keep
My soul in thy right way.

11 O! for the sake of thy great Name,
Revive my drooping heart;
For thy truth's sake, to me, distress'd,
Thy promis'd aid impart.

12 In pity to my suff'rings, Lord,
Reduce my foes to shame;
Slay them that persecute a soul
Devoted to thy Name.