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| 1 I with my voice cried to the Lord, with it made my request: 2 Poured out to him my plaint, to him my trouble I expressed. 3 When in me was o'erwhelmed my sp'rit, then well thou knew'st my way; Where I did walk a snare for me they privily did lay. 4 I looked on my right hand, and viewed, but none to know me were; All refuge failèd me, no man did for my soul take care. 5 I cried to thee; I said, Thou art my refuge, Lord, alone; And in the land of those that live thou art my pörtion. 6 Because I am brought very low, attend unto my cry: Me from my persecutors save, who stronger are than I. 7 From prison bring my soul, that I thy name may glorify: The just shall compass me, when thou with me deal'st bounteously. | The Irish Presbyterian Hymnbook #P142 (2004) Scottish Psalter and Paraphrases #P173 (1800) Foundations Psalter: 1650 Scottish Psalter #142 (2023) |
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