Ad te, Domine
Unto thee will I cry, O Lord, my strength; think no scorn of me, lest, if thou make as though thou hearest not, I become like them that go down into the pit. Hear the voice of my humble petitions, when I cry unto thee, when I hold up my hands towards the mercy-seat of thy holy temple. O pluck me not away, neither destroy me with the ungodly and wicked doers, which speak friendly to their neighbours, but imagine mischief in their hearts. Reward them according to their deeds, and according to the wickedness of their own inventions. Recompense them after the work of their hands; pay them that they have deserved. For they regard not in their mind the works of the Lord, nor the operation of his hands; therefore shall he break them down, and not build them up. Praised be the Lord; for he hath heard the voice of my humble petitions. The Lord is my strength, and my shield; my heart hath trusted in him, and I am helped. Therefore my heart danceth for joy, and in my song will I praise him. The Lord is my strength, and he is the wholesome defence of his Anointed.
O save thy people, and give thy blessing unto thine inheritance; feed them, and set them up for ever.
The coverdale translation edited by W.S. Peterson and Valerie Macys — used with permission.