My cry I will cause to ascend unto the Lord most high; To God, who doth all things for me perform most perfectly.
Surely that which concerneth me the Lord will perfect make: Lord, still thy mercy lasts; do not thine own hands' works forsake.
They daily would me swallow up that hate me spitefully; For they be many that do fight against me, O most High.
As th' apple of the eye me keep; in thy wings shade me close
Those that to me are enemies, of me do evil say, When shall he die, that so his name may perish quite away?
Lord, free me from my foes; I flee to thee to cover me.