1 Happy the Man, whose tender Care
relieves the Poor distress'd!
When he's by Troubles compaas'd round,
the Lord shall give him Rest.
2 The Lord his Life, with Blessings crown'd,
in Safety shall prolong;
And disappoint the Will of those
that seek to do him Wrong.
3 If he in languishing Estate,
oppress'd with Sickness, lie;
The Lord will easy make his Bed,
and inward Strength supply.
4 Secure of this, to Thee, my God,
I thus my Pray'r address'd:
"Lord, for thy Mercy, heal my Soul,
"tho' I have much trasgress'd."
5 My cruel Foes, with sland'rous Words,
attempt to wound my Fame:
"When shall he die (say they,) and Men
"forget his very Name?"
6 Suppose they formal Visits make,
'tis all but empty Show:
They gather Mischief in their Hearts,
and vent it where they go.
7,8 With private Whispers, such as these,
to hurt me they devise:
"A sore Disease afflicts him now;
"he's fall'n, no more to rise."
9 My own familiar Bosom-friend,
on whom I most rely'd,
Has me, whose daily Guest he was,
with open Scorn defy'd.
10 But thou my sad and wretched State,
in Mercy, Lord, regard;
And raise me up, that all their Crimes
may meet their just Reward.
11 By this I know, thy gracious Ear
is open when I call;
Because Thou suffer'st not my Foes
to triumph in my Fall.
12 Thy tender Care secures my Life
from Danger and Disgrace;
And Thou vouchsaf'st to set me still
before thy glorious Face.
13 Let therefore Israel's Lord and God
from Ages to Age be blest;
And all the People's glad Applause
with loud Amens express'd.
Source: A New Version of the Psalms of David: fitted to the Tunes used in Churches #XLI