1 Blest he who wisely helps the poor,
In trouble he shall help secure:
The Lord shall keep him, he shall live,
And blessing on the earth receive.
2 Thou wilt not give him to the will
Of foes that seek to do him ill.
When laid upon the bed of pain,
The Lord with strength will him sustain.
3 On him Thou wilt compassion take,
And all his bed in sickness make.
I said, "Lord, pity, heal Thou me,
Because I have offended Thee."
4 My foes speak ill of me, they say,
"When shall he die? his name decay?"
If seeing me, his speech is vain;
His heart hoards ills to tell again.
5 All those who hate me, whisper lies,
Against me hurtful things devise:
"Now his disease," say they, "is sore,
It binds him fast, he’ll rise no more."
6 Yea, e’en my own familiar friend,
The man on whom I did depend,
Who ate my bread, pretending zeal,
Against me lifted up his heel.
7 In mercy raise me up, O Lord,
To render foes a due reward.
By this I know Thy love remains,
Because my foe no triumph gains.
8 Thou dost my steps direct aright,
And set me ever in Thy sight.
Let Israel’s God, Jehovah, then
Be ever blest. Amen, amen.
Source: The Cyber Hymnal #13681