1 Preserve me, Lord, from crafty foes
of treacherous intent;
2 And from the sons of violence,
on open mischief bent.
3 Their sland'ring tongue the serpent's sting
in sharpness does exceed;
Between their lips the gall of asps
and adders' venom breed.
4 Preserve me, Lord, from wicked hands,
nor leave my soul forlorn,
A prey to sons of violence,
who have my ruin sworn.
6 The proud for me have laid their snare,
and spread their wily net;
With traps and gins**, where'er I move,
I find my steps beset,
6 But thus environed with distress,
thou art my God, I said;
Lord, hear my supplicating voice,
that calls to thee for aid.
7 O Lord, the God, whose saving strength
kind succor did convey,
And covered my advent'rous head
in battle's doubtful day:
8 Permit not their unjust designs
to answer their desire;
Lest they, encouraged by success,
to bolder crimes aspire.
9 Let first their chiefs the sad effects
of their injustice mourn:
The blast of their envenomed breath
upon themselves return.
10 Let them who kindled first the flame
its sacrifice become;
The pit, they digged for me be made
their own untimely tomb.
11 Tho slander's breath may raise a storm,
it quickly will decay;
Their rage does but the torrent swell
that bears themselves away.
12 God will assert the poor man's cause,
and speedy succor give;
The just shall celebrate his praise,
and in his presence live.
** gins - archaic, traps, snares.