Thy dreadful anger, Lord, restrain, And spare a wretch forlorn

1 Thy dreadful anger, Lord, restrain,
and spare a wretch forlorn;
Correct me not in thy fierce wrath,
too heavy to be borne.
2 Have mercy, Lord; for I grow faint,
unable to endure
The anguish of my aching bones,
which thou alone can'st cure.
3 My tortur'd flesh distracts my mind,
and fills my soul with grief;
But, Lord, how long wilt thou delay
to grant me thy relief?

4 Thy wonted goodness, Lord, repeat,
and ease my troubled soul:
Lord, for thy wondrous mercy's sake,
vouchsafe to make me whole.
5 For after death no more can I
thy glorious acts proclaim;
No pris'ner of the silent grave
can magnify thy Name.

6 Quite tir'd with pain, with groaning faint,
no hope of ease I see;
The night, that quiets common griefs,
is spent in tears by me.
7 My beauty fades, my sight grows dim,
my eyes with weakness close;
Old-age o'ertakes me, whilst I think
on my insulting foes.

8 Depart, ye wicked; in my wrongs
ye shall no more rejoice;
For God, I find, accepts my tears,
and listens to my voice.
9, 10 He hears, and grants my humble pray'r;
and they that wish my fall,
Shall blush and rage to see that God
protects me from them all.

Source: The Whole Book of Psalms: in metre; with hymns suited to the feasts and fasts of the church, and other occasions of public worship #VI