GOD THE GUARDIAN.—PSALM XI.
How say ye to my soul,
As a mountain bird depart?
For the wicked bend the bow,
With the aim upon the heart.
In the Lord I put my trust—
The Great Giver of my breath—
He is mighty as he's just,
He wilt guard my soul from death.
On his holy throne he sits,
With his eye o'er all the earth;
But his shaft, that slays the vile,
Never harms the breast of worth.
The man of wrath he dooms
To the terror and the blight;
But his love the soul sustains
That walks humbly in his sight.