Psalm 12

Complaint of a general corruption of manners.

Help, Lord, for men of virtue fail,
Religion loses ground,
The sons of violence prevail,
And treacheries abound.

Their oaths and promises they break,
Yet act the flatterer's part;
With fair, deceitful lips they speak,
And with a double heart.

If we reprove some hateful lie,
How is their fury stirred
"Are not our lips our own?" they cry;
"And who shall be our Lord?"

Scoffers appear on every side,
Where a vile race of men
Is raised to seats of power and pride,
And bears the sword in vain.

PAUSE.

Lord, when iniquities abound,
And blasphemy grows bold;
When faith is hardly to be found,
And love is waxing cold;

Is not thy chariot hast'ning on?
Hast thou not giv'n this sign?
May we not trust and live upon
A promise so divine?

"Yes," saith the Lord, "now will I rise,
And make oppressors flee;
I shall appear to their surprise,
And set my servants free."

Thy word, like silver sev'n times tried,
Through ages shall endure;
The men that in thy truth confide
Shall find the promise sure.