1 In deep distress I oft have cried

to God, who never yet denied

To rescue me, oppressed with wrongs.

2 Once more, O Lord, deliv'rance send,

from lying lips my soul defend,

And from the rage of sland'ring tongues.

3 What little profit can accrue,

and yet what heavy wrath is due,

O thou perfidious tongue, to thee!

4 Thy sting upon thyself shall turn;

of lasting flames that fiercely burn,

The constant fuel thou shalt be.

5 But O how wretched is my doom,

who am a sojourner become

In barren Mesech's desert soil!

With Kedar's wicked tents enclosed,

to lawless savages exposed,

Who live on naught but theft and spoil.

6 My hapless dwelling is with those

who peace and amity oppose,

And pleasure take in others' harms:

7 Sweet peace is all I court and seek;

but when to them of peace I speak,

They straight cry out, "To arms, to arms!"