tr., John Brownlie

8,7,8,7

I

Lord, a band of foes increasing

Terror to my heart would bring;

For they tell my soul unceasing,

That no help from God can spring.

II

Yet Thou art my shield about me,

Till the time of strife is past;

And though cruel foes may flout me,

Thou wilt hear my prayer at last.

III

On my couch when night was falling,

Lay I down devoid of fear;

And when morning light was calling,

I awoke, for thou wert near.

IV

Tens of thousands round my dwelling

Stand arrayed to do me harm;

But my trust when foes are swelling,

Rests in Thine almighty arm.

V

Rise, O Lord, for Thou, victorious,

Hast the might of sin o'erthrown,

And amid Thy triumph glorious,

Bless the people Thou dost own.