1 Help, Lord, because the godly man
doth daily fade away;
And from among the sons of men
the faithful do decay.
2 Unto his neighbour ev’ry one
doth utter vanity:
They with a double heart do speak,
and lips of flattery.
3 God shall cut off all flatt’ring lips,
all that speak proudly thus,
4 We’ll with our tongue prevail, our lips
are ours: who’s lord o’er us?
5 For poor oppress’d, and for the sighs
of needy, rise will I,
Saith God, and him in safety set
from such as him defy.
6 The words of God are words most pure;
they be like silver try’d
In earthen furnace, seven times
that hath been purify’d.
7 Lord, thou shalt them preserve and keep
for ever from this race.
8 On each side walk the wicked when
vile men are high in place.
Common Metre (8,6,8,6)