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From wicked men that trouble me,
and daily me annoy;
And from my foes that go about
my soul for to destroy:
Who wallow in their worldly wealth,
and are so full and fat,
That in their pride they do not spare
to speak they care not what.
They lie in wait where I should pass,
with craft me to confound;
And musing mischief in their minds
to cast me to the ground:
Much like a lion greedily
hat would his prey embrace;
Or lurking like a lion's whelp,
within some secret place.
Up, Lord, in haste, prevent my foe,
and cast him at my feet;
Save thou my soul from the ill man,
and with thy sword him smite.
Deliver me, Lord, by thy pow'r,
out of these tyrants' hands,
Who now so long time reign-ed have,
and kept us in their bands;
I mean, from worldly men, who do
in worldly goods abound;
That have no hope or joy but what
in this life can be found.
Thou of thy store their bellies fill'st
with pleasure to their mind;
Their children have enough, and leave
the rest to theirs behind.
But as for me, I will behold
thy face in righteousness;
And shall be satisfied when I
awake with thy likeness.
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marker 99
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LYRICS
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Meter:
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8 6 8 6 (C.M.)
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Writer(s):
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Trans/Adapted:
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Dates:
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1549,1812
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Bible Refs:
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Ps 17:9-17;
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LIST OF LYRIC SOURCES
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Hymn/Song Book
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Year
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Song #
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| 1812 | # 17 |
echo ' | ';
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Hymn Writer
