Psalm 64

VOuchsafe ô Lord to hear my cry,
And to my pray'rs give ear:
Preserve my life from th'enemie
Of whom I stand in fear.
Lord hide me from the secret snare,
That wicked men devise:
From them that wicked workers are,
And up against me rise.
For they have made their tongues acute,
As sharpest edge of swords:
That they might deadly arrows shoot,
Most cruell bitter words.
That they may shoot in secrecy,
The perfect man to hit:
They do shoot at him suddainly,
And do not fear a whit.
With courage they in ill proceed,
And commune how to lay
Their privy snares, in hope to speed,
For who shall see, say they?
They to accomplish wickedness,
Have diligently sought:
Their hearts are deep and bottomless,
With every secret thought.
A suddain arrow shall them wound,
Shot from the Lord to slay:
So shall their tongues themselves confound,
Beholders flee away.
This shall a feare on all men bring,
They shall Gods work declare:
Most prudently considering,
What these his doings are.
The righteous shall in God delight,
Trust in his holy Name:
And all that are in heart upright,
Shall glory in the same.