Psalm 40

On the Lord my soul is stay'd:
Wherefore do ye bid me fly
To the mountain-top for aid?
My strong Mountain still is nigh.
Jesu's arms are my defence:
Who shall come and pluck me thence?

Lo! the wicked bend their bow
At the men of heart sincere;
Secretly their darts they throw,
Neither God nor man they fear.
Whither shall the righteous run?
Justice here, for them, is none.

But the Lord who dwells above
Truth and righteousness maintains;
On His awful throne of love
Sovereign Arbiter He reigns;
Sends from thence His piercing eyes,
All that is in man descries.

God beholds and loves His own;
God abhors the faithless seed,
Rains His fiery judgments down
On the persecutors' head.
Gives them Jm'e the trembling cup,
Fills in hell the measure up.

Righteous in Himself, the Lord
Only righteousness approves;
Sinners, by His grace restored,
Truly justified. He loves;
Grants them lie7-e the perfect grace,
Pure in heart to see His face.