Words: , The Psalms of Da­vid, 1719.

Music: Bing­ham, anon­y­mous.

If you know the com­pos­er, or where to get his pic­ture

Help, Lord, for men of virtue fail,
Religion loses ground,
The sons of violence prevail,
And treacheries abound.

Their oaths and promises they break,
Yet act the flatterer’s part;
With fair, deceitful lips they speak,
And with a double heart.

If we reprove some hateful lie,
How is their fury stirred!
“Are not our lips our own?” they cry;
“And who shall be our Lord?”

Scoffers appear on every side,
Where a vile race of men
Is raised to seats of power and pride,
And bears the sword in vain.

Lord, when iniquities abound,
And blasphemy grows bold,;
When faith is hardly to be found,
And love is waxing cold;

Is not Thy chariot hastening on?
Hast Thou not giv’n this sign?
May we not trust and live upon
A promise so divine?

“Yes,” saith the Lord, “now will I rise,
And make oppressors flee;
I shall appear to their surprise,
And set My servants free.”

Thy Word, like silver sev’n times tried,
Through ages shall endure;
The men that in Thy truth confide
Shall find the promise sure.