My crafty foe, with flattering art

1 My crafty Foe, with flatt'ring Art,
His wicked Purpose would disguise;
But Reason whispers to my Heart,
No Fear of God's before his Eyes.
2 He sooths himself, retir'd from Sight;
Secure he thinks his treach'rous Game;
Till his dark Plots, expos'd to Light,
Their false Contriver brand with Shame.

3 In Deeds he is my Foe confess'd,
Whilst with his Tongue he speaks me fair:
True Wisdom's banish'd from his Breast,
And Vice has sole Dominion there.
4 His wakeful Malice spends the Night
In forging his accurs'd Designs;
His obstinate, ungen'rous Spite
No execrable Means declines.

5 But, Lord, Thy Mercy, my sure Hope,
The highest Orb of Heav'n transcends;
Thy sacred Truth's unmeasur'd Scope
Beyond the sparkling Skies extends.
6 Thy Justice like the Hills remains;
Unfathom'd Depths thy Judgments are;
Thy Providence the world sustains;
The whole Creation is thy Care.

7 Since of thy Goodness All partake,
With what Assurance should the Just
Thy shelt'ring Wings their Refuge make,
And Saints to thy Protection trust!
8 Such Guests shall to Thy Courts be led,
To banquet on thy Love's Repast:
And drink, as from a Fountain's Head,
Of Joys that shall forever last.

9 With Thee the Springs of Life remain;
Thy Presence is eternal Day:
10 O! let thy Saints thy Favour gain;
To upright Hearts thy Truth display.
11 Whilst Pride's insulting Foot would spurn,
And wicked Hand my Life surprise;
12 Their Mischiefs on themselves return;
Down, down, they're fall'n, no more to rise.

Source: A New Version of the Psalms of David: fitted to the Tunes used in Churches #XXXVI