A poem of David
Preserve me, Oh God, I in you refuge take. My soul said, “You’re my Lord, your good; not mine make.”
And as for the saints, all that are in the land, In these all delight, mine: majestic ones, grand.
Their sorrows be increased who chase others, for: Their names not on my lips, nor blood offerings pour.
The Lord is the portion who my share has wrought; And even my cup there, you maintain my lot.
The lines fall unto me in ways of delight; And yes, even mine, an inheritance bright.
The Lord I will bless who has counseled me right; And my heart instructs me; yes, even at night.
I’ve set God before me continually; Since He’s at my right hand, unshaken I’ll be.
My heart is glad therefore, my honor rejoice; And so my flesh also, in hope is its choice.
For you will not leave me, my soul in the ground; You’ll not let your holy one corrupt be found.
In your presence joyful, your path you’ll show me; At Your right hand pleasures for ever shall be.