Psalm III

Lord, how my numerous foes increase!
How fast my troubles rise!
To thee, the sacred spring of peace,
My wearied spirit flies.

My numerous foes awake my fears,
While they exulting boast,
"No heavenly aid for him appears,
"And all his hopes are lost."

But thou, my glory, and my shield,
Wilt all my fears controul;
A strong defence thy arm shall yield,
And raise my drooping soul.

To God I breath'd my ardent cry,
He, gracious heard my prayer;
It reach'd his sacred throne on high,
And he remov'd my care.

I laid me down and slept secure,
I wak'd, for God was nigh;
Sustain'd by his almighty power,
My guard his watchful eye.

What though ten thousand foes in arms
Against me should appear;
And war resound its dire alarms,
I will not yield to fear.

Arise, O Lord, with saving power
In my defence engage;
As oft thy potent arm before
Has crush'd their impious rage.

Salvation, Lord, is thine alone,
And all thy saints shall find
The bliss my thankful heart has known,
A God for ever kind.