Psalm 57, Paraphras’d

BE merciful, O GOD, and save
My Soul; in Thee her Trust is plac'd;
Thy Wings for Shelter let me have,
Until this Tyranny be past.

To Thee, who Help alone canst lend,
Both late and early will I call:
Thou, from on high, shalt me defend
'Gainst him, who would my Feet entral.

My Soul is in the Lion's Den,
(My Enemies are gather'd Round:)
Beset with wicked Sons of Men,
Whose Tongues like Spears and Arrows wound.

LORD, to deliver me appear,
Above the Heav'n thy Beauties raise,
Thy glorious Majesty uprear,
And o'er the Earth thy Brightness blaze.

Maliciously their Snares they laid,
And to oppress me sorely sought
In vain—the LORD flew to my Aid,
And in the Snare themselves are caught.

Oh! how shall I thy Goodness praise?—
The Heart, which Thou hast sav'd, receive!
Awake, my Lute! thy Raptures raise!
To GOD eternal Honors give!

Among the Nations will I sing,
And with my Voice the Temple rend:
Thy Mercies reach to Heav'n, Great King,
Thy Glories to the Clouds extend.

In full Effulgence, LORD, appear,
Above the Heav'ns thy Beauties raise!
Thy Glorious Majesty uprear,
And o'er the Earth thy Brightness blaze!