Dr. Watts's Imitation of the Psalms of David ‎#196

196. Ye sons of men, a feeble race

1 Ye sons of men, a feeble race,
Expos'd to every snare,
Come, make the Lord your dwelling place,
And try and trust his care.

2 No ill shall enter where you dwell,
Or if the plague come nigh,
And sweep the wicked down to hell,
'Twill raise his saints on high.

3 He'll give his angels charge to keep
Your feet in all their ways;
To watch your pillow while you sleep,
And guard your happy days.

4 Their hands shall bear you, lest you fall,
And dash against the stones:
Are they not servants at his call,
And sent t' attend his sons?

5 Adders and lions ye shall tread;
The tempter's wiles defeat;
He that hath broke the serpent's head,
Puts him beneath your feet.

6 'Because on me they set their love,
'I'll save them,' saith the Lord,
'I'll bear their joyful souls above
'Destruction and the sword.

7 'My grace shall answer when they call;
'In trouble I'll be nigh:
'My pow'r shall help them when they fall,
'And raise them when they die.

8 'Those that on earth my name have known
'I'll honor them in heav'n;
'There my salvation shall be shown,
'And endless life be giv'n.'

Text Information

• First Line: Ye sons of men, a feeble race
• Meter: C. M.
• Language: English
• Publication Date: 1790
• Scripture:
  Psalm 91:9-16
• Notes: Part 2

Tune Information

(No tune information)