1 To thee I’ll cry, O Lord, my rock;
hold not thy peace to me;
lest like those who to death go down
I by thy silence be.
2 The voice hear of my humble prayers,
when unto thee I cry;
when to thy holy oracle
I lift mine hands on high.
3 With ill men draw me not away
that work iniquity;
that speak peace to their friends, while in
their hearts doth mischief lie.
4 Give them according to their deeds
and evil of their way;
after the work of their own hands
do thou to them repay.
5 God shall not build, but them destroy,
who would not understand
the Lord’s own works, nor did regard
the doing of his hand.
6 For ever blessed be the Lord,
for graciously he heard
the voice of my petitions, and
my prayers did regard.
7 The Lord’s my strength and shield; my heart
upon him did rely;
and I am helped: hence my heart
doth joy exceedingly,
and with my song I will him praise.
8 Their strength is God alone:
he also is the saving strength
of his anointed one.
9 O thine own people do thou save.
Bless thine inheritance;
them also do thou feed, and them
for evermore advance.
Source: The Irish Presbyterian Hymbook #P28a