(To the choir-master. A psalm. Of David.)
Lord, must I still go all unremembered, must thy look still be turned away from me?

Each day brings a fresh load of care, fresh misery to my heart;

must I be ever the sport of my enemies?

Look upon me, O Lord my God, and listen to me; give light to these eyes, before they close in death;

do not let my enemies claim the mastery, my persecutors triumph over my fall!

I cast myself on thy mercy; soon may this heart boast of redress granted, sing in praise of the Lord, my benefactor.