Isaac Watts · 196 of 724

Psalm 91 Part 2

Ye sons of men, a feeble race, Exposed to every snare, Come, make the Lord your dwelling-place, And try and trust his care.

No ill shall enter where you dwell; Or if the plague come nigh, And sweep the wicked down to hell, 'Twill raise his saints on high.

He'll give his angels charge to keep Your feet in all their ways; To watch your pillow while you sleep, And guard your happy days.

Their hands shall bear you, lest you fall And dash against the stones: Are they not servants at his call, And sent t' attend his sons?

Adders and lions ye shall tread; The tempter's wiles defeat; He that hath broke the serpent's head Puts him beneath your feet.

"Because on me they set their love, I'll save them," saith the Lord; "I'll bear their joyful souls above Destruction and the sword.

"My grace shall answer when they call, In trouble I'll be nigh; My power shall help them when they fall, And raise them when they die.

"Those that on earth my name have known I'll honor them in heav'n; There my salvation shall be shown, And endless life be giv'n."