The Book of Psalms

A Psalme of David. Blessed be the Lord my strength, which teacheth mine hands to fight, and my fingers to battell.

He is my goodnes and my fortresse, my towre and my deliuerer, my shield, and in him I trust, which subdueth my people vnder me.

Lord, what is man that thou regardest him! or the sonne of man that thou thinkest vpon him!

Man is like to vanitie: his dayes are like a shadow, that vanisheth.

Bow thine heauens, O Lord, and come downe: touch the mountaines and they shall smoke.

Cast forth the lightning and scatter them: shoote out thine arrowes, and consume them.

Send thine hand from aboue: deliuer me, and take me out of the great waters, and from the hand of strangers,

Whose mouth talketh vanitie, and their right hand is a right hand of falsehood.

I wil sing a new song vnto thee, O God, and sing vnto thee vpon a viole, and an instrument of ten strings.

It is he that giueth deliuerance vnto Kings, and rescueth Dauid his seruant from the hurtfull sworde.

Rescue me, and deliuer me from the hand of strangers, whose mouth talketh vanitie, and their right hand is a right hand of falshood:

That our sonnes may be as the plantes growing vp in their youth, and our daughters as the corner stones, grauen after the similitude of a palace:

That our corners may be full, and abounding with diuers sorts, and that our sheepe may bring forth thousands and ten thousand in our streetes:

That our oxen may be strong to labour: that there be none inuasion, nor going out, nor no crying in our streetes.

Blessed are the people, that be so, yea, blessed are the people, whose God is the Lord.

Blessed be the LORD, my rock, who trains my hands to war, and my fingers to battle—

my loving kindness, my fortress, my high tower, my deliverer, my shield, and he in whom I take refuge, who subdues my people under me.

LORD, what is man, that you care for him? Or the son of man, that you think of him?

Man is like a breath. His days are like a shadow that passes away.

Part your heavens, LORD, and come down. Touch the mountains, and they will smoke.

Throw out lightning, and scatter them. Send out your arrows, and rout them.

Stretch out your hand from above, rescue me, and deliver me out of great waters, out of the hands of foreigners,

whose mouths speak deceit, whose right hand is a right hand of falsehood.

I will sing a new song to you, God. On a ten-stringed lyre, I will sing praises to you.

You are he who gives salvation to kings, who rescues David, his servant, from the deadly sword.

Rescue me, and deliver me out of the hands of foreigners, whose mouths speak deceit, whose right hand is a right hand of falsehood.

Then our sons will be like well-nurtured plants, our daughters like pillars carved to adorn a palace.

Our barns are full, filled with all kinds of provision. Our sheep produce thousands and ten thousands in our fields.

Our oxen will pull heavy loads. There is no breaking in, and no going away, and no outcry in our streets.

Happy are the people who are in such a situation. Happy are the people whose God is the LORD.