Unless the Lord had been my help when I was sore opprest, Almost my soul had in the house of silence been at rest.
Let me not be asham'd, O Lord, for on thee call'd I have: Let wicked men be sham'd, let them be silent in the grave.
Thou sore hast thrust, that I might fall, but my Lord helped me.
The dead, nor who to silence go, God's praise do not record.
O Lord my God, consider well, and answer to me make: Mine eyes enlighten, lest the sleep of death me overtake:
They in the Lord that firmly trust shall be like Sion hill, Which at no time can be remov'd, but standeth ever still.