Hear, Lord, the voice of my com­plaint,
Preserve my life from fear;
Hide me from plot­ting en­emies
And ev­il, crowd­ing near.
The work­ers of ini­qui­ty,
Their dead­ly shafts pre­pare;
They aim at me their trea­cher­ous words;
O save me from their snare.

The wick­ed in their base de­signs
Grow ar­ro­gant and bold;
Conspiring sec­ret­ly, they think
That God will not be­hold;
They search out more ini­qui­ty,
Their thoughts and plans are deep,
But God will smite, for He is near
His saints to guard and keep.

The wick­ed, by their sins o’er­come,
Shall soon be brought to shame;
The hand of God shall yet ap­pear,
And all shall fear His name.
The just shall tri­umph in the Lord,
Their trust shall be se­cure,
And end­less glo­ry then shall crown
The up­right and the pure.