Lord, in the morn­ing Thou shalt hear
My voice as­cend­ing high;
To Thee will I di­rect my pray­er,
To Thee lift up mine eye.

Up to the hills, where Christ is gone
To plead for all His saints,
Presenting at His Fa­ther’s throne,
Our songs and our com­plaints.

Thou art a God be­fore whose sight
The wick­ed shall not stand;
Sinners shall ne’er be Thy de­light,
Nor dwell at Thy right hand.

But to Thy house will I re­sort,
To taste Thy mer­cies there;
I will fre­quent Thine ho­ly court,
And wor­ship in Thy fear.

O may Thy Spir­it guide my feet
In ways of right­eous­ness!
Make ev­ery path of du­ty straight
And plain be­fore my face.

My watch­ful en­emies com­bine
To tempt my feet as­tray;
They flat­ter with a base de­sign
To make my soul their prey.

Lord, crush the ser­pent in the dust,
And all his plots de­stroy;
While those that in Thy mer­cy trust,
Forever shout for joy.

The men that love and fear Thy name
Shall see their hopes ful­filled;
The migh­ty God will com­pass them
With fa­vor as a shield.