1 Thy dreadful anger, Lord, restrain,

and spare a wretch forlorn;

Correct me not in thy fierce wrath,

too heavy to be borne.

2 Have mercy, Lord, for I grow faint,

unable to endure,

The anguish of my aching bones,

which thou alone can cure.

3 My tortured flesh distracts my mind,

and fills my soul with grief;

But, Lord, how long will thou delay

to grant me thy relief?

4 Thy wonted goodness, Lord, repeat,

and ease my troubled soul;

Lord, for thy wondrous mercy's sake

vouchsafe to make me whole.

5 For after death no more can I

thy glorious acts proclaim;

No pris'ner of the silent grave

can magnify thy name.

6 Quite tired with pain, with groaning faint,

no hope of ease I see;

The night, that quiets common griefs,

is spent in tears by me.

7 My beauty fades, my sight grows dim,

my eyes with weakness close;

Old age o'ertakes me, while I think

on my insulting foes.

8 Depart, you wicked, in my wrongs

you shall no more rejoice;

for god, I find, accepts my tears,

and listens to my voice.

9,10 He hears and grants my humble pray'r;

and they that wish my fall,

Shall blush and rage to see that God

protects me from them all.