Psalm 91 (Version 2, Part 2)

Ye sons of men, a feeble race,

Expos'd to every snare,

Come make the Lord your dwelling-place,

And try and trust his care.

No ill shall enter where you dwell;

Or if the plague come nigh,

And sweep the wicked down to hell,

'Twill raise his saints on high.

He'll give his angels charge to keep

Your feet in all their ways;

To watch your pillow while you sleep,

And guard your happy days.

Their hands shall bear you, lest you fall

And dash against the stones:

Are they not servants at his call,

And sent t' attend his sons?

Adders and lions ye shall tread;

The tempter's wiles defeat;

He that hath broke the serpent's head

Puts him beneath your feet.

"Because on me they set their love

"I'll save them," saith the Lord;

"I'll bear their joyful souls above

"Destruction and the sword.

"My grace shall answer when they call;

"In trouble I'll be nigh;

"My power shall help them when they fall,

"And raise them when they die.

"Those that on earth my Name have known,

"I'll honour them in heaven;

"There my salvation shall be shown,

"And endless life be given."