Words: Isaac Watts
God's care of his people.
1 My trust is in my heav'nly Friend, My hope in thee, my God; Rise, and my helpless life defend From those that seek my blood.
2 With insolence and fury they My soul in pieces tear, As hungry lions rend the prey, When no deliv'rer's near.
3 If I had e'er provoked them first, Or once abused my foe, Then let him tread my life to dust, And lay mine honor low.
4 If there be malice found in me, I know thy piercing eyes; I should not dare appeal to thee, Nor ask my God to rise.
5 Arise, my God, lift up thy hand, Their pride and power control; Awake to judgment, and command Deliv'rance for my soul.
6 Let sinners, and their wicked rage, Be humbled to the dust; Shall not the God of truth engage To vindicate the just?
7 He knows the heart, he tries the reins, He will defend th' upright; His sharpest arrows he ordains Against the sons of spite.
8 For me their malice digged a pit, But there themselves are cast; My God makes all their mischief light On their own heads at last.
9 That cruel, persecuting race Must feel his dreadful sword: Awake, my soul, and praise the grace And justice of the Lord.