1 I on the Lord with confidence rely;
(Sure is the aid of the divinity).
Why then d'ye bid my soul distrust his pow'r,
And a vain refuge in the hills explore;
Like tim'rous birds, whose flight betrays their fear,
Who swiftly skim the skies, when danger's near?
2 For lo! th' ungodly bend their hostile bow;
Their arrows ready on the firing they shew;
With private spite they at the righteous aim,
The man, whose conscious heart is free from blame.
3 But thou'lt, almighty Lord, their fury slay;
The righteous thou'lt protect, who thee obey;
Thou wilt their helpless innocence defend;
The bow with fruitless aim th' ungodly bend.
4 Thou in thy hallow'd temple fit'st on high;
High in thy heav'ns, enthron'd in majesty,
Full in thy view the scatter'd nations are;
Howe'er dispers'd, they all employ thy care.
5 Thine eye the actions of the good man views,
The bad thro' all his mazy crimes pursues;
The good are constant objects of thy love;
The bad thy bitt'rest indignation prove.
6 Thou on the bad dost dire destruction pour,
Hear! the black tempests all around them roar,
Hark! the loud thunder rattles o'er their heads;
Lo! it's swift fires the sulph'rous lightning sheds.
7 But, just thyself, thou call'st: the just man thine,
And bidst thy mercy on the upright shine.