1 O God, whom I in praise adore,
Be silent in my cause no more;
Their mouths the wicked open wide;
Against me hypocrites have lied.
2 With words of hate they throng around,
And fight, although no cause be found;
My love provokes their bitter spite,
But I in constant prayer delight.
3 With evil they my good reward,
With hatred meet my kind regard;
Place him beneath the wicked’s hand,
And on his right let Satan stand.
4 In judgment let his plea be spurned,
And let his prayer to sin be turned;
His days be few, and in his room
To office let another come.
5 A widow let his wife be left,
His children of their sire bereft;
Let them be scattered far from home,
And begging bread through deserts roam.
6 Extortioners his substance take,
His toil a prey let strangers make;
Let him from none compassion know,
None to his orphans favor show.
7 His seed let perish in their shame,
The coming age blot out their name;
His father’s sin Jehovah mind,
His mother’s sin no pardon find.
8 Let them with God ne’er be forgot,
Till He from earth their memory blot;
For he remembered not to show
Compassion to the sons of woe.
9 The poor and those with want distressed
He persecuted and oppressed;
He them pursued to make his prey,
And broken-hearted ones to slay.
10 The curse he loved on him shall rest,
He, blessing not, shall not be blest,
Himself with cursing be arrayed,
To him shall cursing be repaid.
11 In him like water it shall flow,
Like oil through all his bones shall go;
Like raiment it shall clothe him o’er,
A girdle binding evermore.
12 Foes and accusers, from the Lord,
Shall find in cursing their reward,
But God the Lord, for Thy name’s sake,
For me in mercy undertake.
13 Because Thy grace is rich and free,
From all my foes deliver me;
I’m poor and needy, grant relief,
My heart within is pierced with grief.
14 Like locust tossed, like fleeting shade,
My days to pass away are made;
Through many fasts my strength declines,
My knees are weak, my body pines.
15 To foes a vile reproach I’m made,
On me they look and shake the head;
O Lord, my God, my helper be,
In Thy great mercy save Thou me.
16 That this to them, Lord, may be known,
Has by Thy mighty arm been done;
They curse, but let their curse be vain,
Thy blessing, Lord, let me obtain.
17 When they arise shamed let them be,
But make Thy servant glad in Thee;
Let foes be covered with disgrace,
And mantle o’er with shame their face.
18 My mouth shall greatly praise the Lord,
Yea, with the throng His praise record,
For on the poor’s right hand shall He
Stand up, his soul from wrong to free.
Source: The Cyber Hymnal #12673
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