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 ev’ry one

doth utter vanity:

They with a double heart do speak,

and lips of flattery.

3

God shall cut off all flatt’ring lips,

tongues that speak proudly thus,

4

We’ll with our tongue prevail, our lips

are ours: who’s lord o’er us?

5

For poor oppress’d, and for the sighs

of needy, rise will I,

Saith God, and him in safety set

from such as him defy.

6

The words of God are words most pure;

they be like silver try’d

In earthen furnace, seven times

that hath been purify’d.

7

Lord, thou shalt them preserve and keep

for ever from this race.

8

On each side walk the wicked, when

vile men are high in place.