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C. M.

God's care of his people.


My trust is in my heav'nly Friend,

My hope in thee, my God;

Rise, and my helpless life defend

From those that seek my blood.

With insolence and fury they

My soul in pieces tear,

As hungry lions rend the prey,

When no deliverer's near.

If I had e'er provoked them first,

Or once abused my foe,

Then let him tread my life to dust,

And lay mine honor low.

If there be malice found in me,

I know thy piercing eyes;

I should not dare appeal to thee,

Nor ask my God to rise.

Arise, my God, lift up thy hand,

Their pride and power control;

Awake to judgment, and command

Deliverance for my soul.

[Let sinners, and their wicked rage,

Be humbled to the dust;

Shall not the God of truth engage

To vindicate the just?

He knows the heart, he tries the reins,

He will defend th' upright

His sharpest arrows he ordains

Against the sons of spite.

For me their malice digged a pit,

But there themselves are cast;

My God makes all their mischief light

On their own heads at last.]

That cruel, persecuting race

Must feel his dreadful sword:

Awake, my soul, and praise the grace

And justice of the Lord.

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