1 In deep Distress I oft have cry'd
To God, who never yet deny'd
To rescue me oppress'd with wrongs;
2 Once more, O Lord, Deliv'rance send,
From lying Lips my Soul defend,
And from the Rage of sland'ring Tongues.

3 What little Profit can accrue,
And yet what heavy Wrath is due,
O thou perfidious Tongue, to Thee?
4 Thy Sting upon thyself shall turn;
Of lasting Flames that fiercely burn,
The constant Fuel thou shalt be.

5 But O! how wretched is my Doom,
Who am a Sojourner become
In barren Mesech's desart Soil!
With Kedar's wicked Tents inclos'd,
To lawless Savages expos'd,
Who live on nought but theft and Spoil.

6 My hapless Dwelling is with those
Who Peace and Amity oppose,
And Pleasure take in others Harms:
7 Sweet Peace is all I court and seek;
But when to them of Peace I speak,
They straight cry out, To Arms, To Arms.