(To the choir-master. Melody: Do not destroy. A psalm. Of Asaph. A song.)

We praise thee, O God, and, praising thee, call upon thy name, tell the story of thy wondrous deeds.

When the time is ripe, I will judge strictly;

earth rocks to its fall, and all that dwell on it; I alone support its fabric.✻

Rebel no more, I cry to the rebels, Abate your pride, to the transgressors;

would they match themselves against the most High, hurl defiance at God?

Look east, look west, it will avail you nothing; no help comes from the desert, or the high hills;

it is God who rules all, humbling one man and exalting another.

In the Lord’s hand foams a full cup of spiced wine; he holds it to men’s lips, that must empty it to the dregs, sinners everywhere must drink them.

Evermore will I triumph, singing praises to the God of Jacob;

mine to crush the pride of every sinner, and raise high the courage of the just.