Psalm 64

Thou great Protector, heare my Cry;
Save from my dreadfull Enemy:
O vindicate
From their close hate,
Who for my Soule in ambush lie.
From their blind Rage protect,
Who Truth and Thee reject.

Who whet their Tongues, more sharp then Swords,
Their Arrowes draw, even bitter words;
To wound th'Vpright,
With fierce delight,
When Time to their desire accords:
Then on a sudden shoot;
Nor feare divine pursuit.

Confirm'd in skilfull Malice; they
Conspire, their Nets in secret lay:
And say; What eye
Can this descry?
First counsell take; and then betray:
On mischiefe set their hearts,
Pursu'd by wicked Arts.

But God shall let his Arrowes flie;
Wound in the twinckling of an Eye:
Each deadly stung
By his owne Tongue,
Shall with that fatall Poyson die.
Who this behold, or heare,
Shall tremble with cold feare.

Men shall their Eyes with wonder raise,
Rehearse his Deeds, and sing his Praise.
Eternitie
Shall crowne their Joy,
Who walke in his prescribed wayes.
He to the Pure of Heart
His Glorie shall impart.