Blest be the Lord my strength, that doth

Verse 1

Blest be the Lord my strength, that doth instruct my hands to fight, The Lord that doth my fingers frame to battle by his might.

Verse 2

He is my hope, my fort, and tow'r, deliverer and shield; In him I trust, my people he subdues to me to yield.

Verse 3

O Lord, what thing is man, that him thou dost so highly prize! Or son of man, that upon him thou thinkest in such wise!

Verse 4

Man is but like to vanity, so pass his days to end, As fleeting shade. Bow down, O Lord, the heavens, and thence descend;

Verse 5

The mountains touch, and they shall smoke, cast forth thy lightning's flame, And scatter them; thy arrows shoot, consume them with the same.

Verse 6

Send down thy hand from heav'n above, O Lord, deliver me; Take me from waters great, from hand of strangers set me free;

Verse 7

Whose subtil mouth of vanity with flatt'ring words doth treat, And their right-hand is a right-hand of falshood and deceit.

Verse 8

A new song will I sing to thee, O God, the Lord most high, And on a ten-string'd lute also praise thee most joyfully.

Verse 9

Even he it is that only gives deliverance to kings; Unto his servant David help from hurtful sword he brings.

Verse 10

From strangers hand me save and shield, whose mouth talks vanity, And their right-hand is a right-hand of guile and subtilty.

Verse 11

That so our sons may be as plants, which growing youth doth rear, Our daughters as carv'd corner-stones, like to a palace fair;

Verse 12

Our garners full and plenty may of sundry sorts be found; Our sheep bring thousands, in our streets ten thousand may abound:

Verse 13

Our oxen be to labour strong, that none may us invade; No goings out there be, nor cries within our streets be made.

Verse 14

The people happy are that with such blessings great are stor'd; Yea, blessed all tile people are, whose God is God the Lord.