1 The earnest pray'r, O heav'nly father, hear,
Nor on thy suppliant servant look severe:
1 View with what sorrows swells my anguish'd breast;
What fatal griefs deny my soul her rest;
3 'Cause of the malice of oppressive foes,
The bitter hate, with which they've 'gainst me rose;
The killing slanders on my fame they cast,
Their causeless fury that will ever last.
4 Pain'd is my heart, and sorely weeps within;
My heart the horrors of the grave hath seen.
5 A sudden tremor on my system falls;
A sudden terror my sad soul appalls;
6 'Twas then I said; " Oh! cou'd I fly away,
"Cou'd to some lone retreat myself convey;
"O cou'd I wing it like the plaintive dove?
"Soon to the desarts, to the woods I'd rove;
8 "Swifter than winds I'd skim the liquid air,
"Reach the wild waste, and seek my solace there."
9 Destroy them, Lord; confound each villain-tongue,
For range the city violence and wrong;
10 Or night or day their mischiefs never fail;
Their monstrous crimes in ev'ry street prevail;
11 Within her walls each horrid guilt is found;
Rage, av'rice, fraud, deceit, and lust, abound.
12 Had sprung my mis'ries from an open foe,
I shou'd expect, and ward against the blow;
Or if some mighty tyrant had assail'd,
Myself I 'ad 'gainst his violence conceal'd:
13 But say, cou'd I my guardless soul defend,
When thus assaulted by my bosom friend?
14 One so belov'd, I ne'er cou'd from him part,
But shar'd with him the secrets of my heart;
With him in social converse spent the day,
With him thy temple sought, my vows to pay.
15 Let them no more their horrid mischiefs breathe;
O sink them, sink them, in eternal death;
Monsters of iniquity from their birth!
Pour, heav'n, thy terrors; overwhelm them, earth!
16 While I my God invoke, to end my grief;
While from his mercy I receive relief;
17 At morn, at even, while his name I praise,
And sing protecting pow'r in grateful lays.
18 Yes; thou shalt give me safety in the war;
In vain their num'rous bands shall they prepare;
In vain shall threaten; I'll in thee be bold,
The wonderful, th' almighty God of old:
No longer shall they boast their cruel pow'r;
Their proud relentless hearts shall rage no more.
20 Peace they'll pretend, yet suddenly invade,
Nor heed the solemn treaties they have made;
21 Smoother than milk, than oil, flows ev'ry word,
Yet wounds more deeply than the keenest sword.
22 But God my hope, my soul will he sustain;
On him the righteous ne'er rely in vain;
23 He'll on the wicked dire destruction pour,
Them in their youth shall sudden death devour;
Their souls of half their days shall he deprive;
While a long round of years the righteous live.