Hear, O Lord, our sup­pli­ca­tion;
Let our souls on Thee re­pose!
Be our refuge, our sal­va­tion,
’Mid ten thousand threat­en­ing foes.

Lord, Thy saints have ma­ny trou­bles,
In their path lies ma­ny a snare:
But before Thy breath like bub­bles,
Melt they soon in idle air.

Cunning are the foe’s de­vic­es,
Bitter are his words of gall;
Sin on every side en­tic­es;
Lord, con­duct us safe through all.

Be our foes by Thee con­found­ed,
Let the world Thy good­ness see,
While, by might and love sur­round­ed,
We rejoice, and trust in Thee.