God’s care of his people and
punishment of persecutors.
My trust is in my heavenly Friend,
My hope in thee, my God;
Rise and my helpless life defend
From those that seek my blood.
With insolence and fury they
My soul in pieces tear,
As hungry lions rend the prey
When no deliverer’s near.
If I had e’er provok’d them first,
Or once abus’d my foe,
Then let him tread my life to dust,
And lay mine honour low.
If there be malice found in me,
I know thy piercing eyes;
I should not dare appeal to thee,
Nor ask my God to rise.
Arise, my God, lift up thy hand,
Their pride and power control;
Awake to judgment and command
Deliverance for my soul.
[Let sinners and their wicked rage
Be humbled to the dust;
Shall not the God of truth engage
To vindicate the just?
He knows the heart, he tries the reins,
He will defend th’ upright:
His sharpest arrows he ordains
Against the sons of spite.
For me their malice digg’d a pit,
But there themselves are cast;
My God makes all their mischief light
On their own heads at last.]
That cruel persecuting race
Must feel his dreadful sword;
Awake, my soul, and praise the grace
And justice of the Lord.