So speedily o'ertake me.
For then, Lord, ev'ry enemy
Would never cease to glory,
And were I prostrate utterly,
Would ever triumph o'er me.
“There lieth he,” they'd cry in joy,
“Who caus'd us evermore annoy,
He's prostrate and ne'er riseth.”
I know them, and I know fall well
The wickedness they're planning,