81 My soul for thy salvation faints;
yet I thy word believe.
82 Mine eyes fail for thy word: I say,
When wilt thou comfort give?
83 For like a bottle I’m become,
that in the smoke is set:
I’m black, and parch’d with grief; yet I
thy statutes not forget.
84 How many are thy servant’s days?
when wilt thou execute
Just judgment on these wicked men
that do me persecute?
85 The proud have digged pits for me,
which is against thy laws.
86 Thy words all faithful are: help me,
pursu’d without a cause.
87 They so consum’d me, that on earth
my life they scarce did leave:
Thy precepts yet forsook I not,
but close to them did cleave.
88 After thy loving-kindness, Lord,
me quicken, and preserve:
The testimony of thy mouth
so shall I still observe.
Source: Scottish Psalter and Paraphrases #P137
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