Blest be the Lord, my rock, my might,
My con­stant help­er in the fight,
My shield, my right­eous­ness,
My strong high tow­er, my Sav­ior true,
Who doth my en­emies sub­due,
My shel­ter in dis­tress.

Lord, what is man, what hath he wrought,
The son of man, that in Thy thought
To hold him Thou shouldst deign?
For man is like a breath, a sigh,
His days on earth as quick­ly fly
As sha­dows o’er the plain.

Lord, bow Thy hea­vens, in might des­cend,
Touch Thou the hills, the mount­ains rend,
And they shall smoke and flame;
As ar­rows send Thy light­nings out
To put Thy en­emies to rout,
And fill Thy foes with shame.

Stretch forth Thy hand and res­cue me
From trou­ble’s dark and rag­ing sea,
And from the ali­en throng,
Whose mouth but va­ni­ty doth speak,
Whose hand of strength against the weak
Is filled with craft and wrong.

Now will I sing a glad new song,
Thy praise, O God, I will pro­long,
For Thou hast heard my pray­er;
Salvation Thou dost give to kings,
Thy own dost keep, with shel­ter­ing wings,
From hurt­ful sword and snare.

O Thou to whom in trust I flee,
Stretch forth Thy hand and res­cue me
From all the ali­en throng,
Whose mouth but va­ni­ty doth speak,
Whose hand of strength against the weak
Is filled with craft and wrong.