1 Help, Lord, because the godly man
doth daily fade away;
and from among the sons of men
the faithful do decay.
2 Unto his neighbour every one
doth utter vanity:
they with a double heart do speak,
and lips of flattery.
3 God shall cut off all flattering lips,
tongues that speak proudly thus,
4 our tongues prevail; our lips are ours:
who is lord over us?
5 For the oppression of the poor,
for him in need that sighs,
to save him from his scornful foes,
God saith, I will arise.
6 Jehovah's words are words most pure;
they are like silver tried
in earthen furnace, seven times
that hath been purified.
7 Lord, thou shalt them preserve and keep
for ever from this race.
8 On all sides walk the wicked, when
vile men are high in place.
Source: The Irish Presbyterian Hymbook #P12