The Whole Book of Psalms ‎#III

III. How many, Lord, of late are grown

1 How many, Lord, of late are grown
the troublers of my peace!
And as their numbers hourly rise,
so does their rage increase.
2 Insulting, they my soul upbraid,
and him whom I adore:
'The God in whom he trusts," say they,
"shall rescue him no more."

3 But thou, O Lord, art my defence;
on thee my hopes rely:
Thou art my glory, and shall yet,
lift up my head on high.
4 Since whensoe'er in like distres,
to God I made my pray'r,
He heard me from his holy hill;
Why should I now despair?
5 Guarded by him, I laid me down,
my sweet repose to take;
For I through him securely sleep,
through him in safety wake.
6 No force nor fury of my foes,
my Courage shall confound,
Were there as many hosts as men,
that have beset me round.

7 Arise, and save me, O my God,
who oft hast own'd my cause,
And scatter'd oft these foes to me,
and to thy righteous laws.
8 Salvation to the Lord belongs;
he only can defend;
His blessing he extends to all
that on his pow'r depend.

Text Information

• First Line: How many, Lord, of late are grown
• Language: English
• Publication Date: 1793
• Scripture:
  Psalm 3

Tune Information

(No tune information)