(To the choir-master. A psalm. Of David.)

O God, listen to my prayer when I plead with thee, save me from the threats of my mortal foe.

Thine to defend me from this conspiracy of malice, this throng of evil-doers;

the tongues that wound like a sharpened sword, the poisoned words aimed at me, like arrows.

Stealthily they attack the innocent:

suddenly, from a safe vantage-point, they wound him. See them pledged to an infamous resolve, plotting to lay snares for me, sure that they will go unseen!

With what care they hatch their designs, planning treason double-dyed! Let the thoughts of man’s heart be deep as they will,

yet God has arrows, too, to smite them with, sudden wounds to deal them;

all their conspiring plays them false. Scornfully the onlookers shake their heads,

awe-stricken every one; who but will acclaim God’s power, who but will ponder his great acts?

Honest men will rejoice and put their trust in the Lord; upright hearts will not boast in vain.