He, lion-like, lurks in his den; he waits the poor to take; And when he draws him in his net, his prey he doth him make.
He like unto a lion is that's greedy of his prey, Or lion young, which lurking doth in secret places stay.
For, lo, they for my soul lay wait: the mighty do combine Against me, Lord; not for my fault, nor any sin of mine.
And all my bones shall say, O Lord, who is like unto thee, Which dost the poor set free from him that is for him too strong; The poor and needy from the man that spoils and does him wrong?
The proud for me a snare have hid, and cords; yea, they a net Have by the way-side for me spread; they gins for me have set.
For poor oppress'd, and for the sighs of needy, rise will I, Saith God, and him in safety set from such as him defy.
The wicked have drawn out the sword, and bent their bow, to slay The poor and needy, and to kill men of an upright way.
For he shall stand at his right hand who is in poverty, To save him from all those that would condemn his soul to die.