And deliverest David thy servant from the sword of the enemy.
Save me, deliver me from the hand of the sons of foreigners,
Whose mouth speaketh falsely;
Perjury is their right hand.
Our sons grow up in their youth as plants,
Our daughters, as polished columns, after the fashion of a palace.
Our granaries are full, affording all manner of store.
Our sheep bring forth thousands,
And ten thousands in our streets:
Our oxen are strong to labour.