O love the Lord, all ye his saints; because the Lord doth guard The faithful, and he plenteously proud doers doth reward.
Hate ill, all ye that love the Lord: his saints' souls keepeth he; And from the hands of wicked men he sets them safe and free.
The Lord preserves all who him love, that nought can them annoy: But he all those that wicked are will utterly destroy.
Lift up thyself, thou of the earth the sov'reign Judge that art; And unto those that are so proud a due reward impart.
Fear God his saints: none that him fear shall be with want oppress'd.
O ye that are his holy ones, sing praise unto the Lord; And give unto him thanks, when ye his holiness record.
Great fear in meeting of the saints is due unto the Lord; And he of all about him should with rev'rence be ador'd.
Unto mine enemies he shall mischief and ill repay: O for thy truth's sake cut them off, and sweep them clean away.
Thee all thy works shall praise, O Lord, and thee thy saints shall bless;