1 To thee I’ll cry, O Lord, my rock;
hold not thy peace to me;
Lest like those that to pit descend
I by thy silence be.
2 The voice hear of my humble pray’rs,
when unto thee I cry;
When to thine holy oracle
I lift mine hands on high.
3 With ill men draw me not away
that work iniquity;
That speak peace to their friends, while in
their hearts doth mischief lie.
4 Give them according to their deeds
and ills endeavoured:
And as their handy-works deserve,
to them be rendered.
5 God shall not build, but them destroy,
who would not understand
The Lord’s own works, nor did regard
the doing of his hand.
6 For ever blessed be the Lord,
for graciously he heard
The voice of my petitions,
and prayers did regard.
7 The Lord’s my strength and shield; my heart
upon him did rely;
And I am helped: hence my heart
doth joy exceedingly.
And with my song I will him praise.
8 Their strength is God alone:
He also is the saving strength
of his anointed one.
9 O thine own people do thou save,
bless thine inheritance;
Them also do thou feed, and them
for evermore advance.
Common Metre (8,6,8,6)