O Lord, how ma­ny are my foes,
In this weak state of flesh and blood!
My peace they daily dis­com­pose,
But my de­fense and hope is God.

Tired with the bur­dens of the day,
To Thee I raised an ev­en­ing cry:
Thou heard’st when I be­gan to pray,
And Thine al­migh­ty help was nigh.

Supported by Thine heav’n­ly aid,
I laid me down, and slept se­cure:
Not death should make my heart afraid,
Though I should wake and rise no more.

But God sus­tained me all the night:
Salvation doth to God be­long;
He raised my head to see the light,
And make His praise my morn­ing song.