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,
he ne'er sets God before his eyes.

2 He soothes 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
mo execrable means declines.

5 But, Lord, thy mercy, my sure hope,
above the heav'nly orb ascends;
Thy sacred truth's unmeasur'd scope
beyond the sparkling sky 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 hands my life surprise;
12 Their mischiefs on themselves return;
down, down, they're fall'n, no more to rise.

Source: The Whole Book of Psalms: in metre; with hymns suited to the feasts and fasts of the church, and other occasions of public worship #XXXVI