Blest He Who Wisely Helps the Poor

Blest he who wise­ly helps the poor

In trou­ble he shall help se­cure:

The Lord shall keep him

he shall live

And bless­ing on the earth re­ceive.

Thou wilt not give him to the will

Of foes that seek to do him ill.

When laid up­on the bed of pain

The Lord with strength will him sus­tain.

On him Thou wilt com­pas­sion take

And all his bed in sick­ness make.

I said

Lord

pity

heal Thou me

Because I have of­fend­ed Thee.

My foes speak ill of me

they say

When shall he die? his name de­cay?

If see­ing me

his speech is vain;

His heart hoards ills to tell again.

All those who hate me

whis­per lies

Against me hurt­ful things de­vise:

Now his dis­ease

say they

is sore

It binds him fast

he’ll rise no more.

Yea

e’en my own fa­mil­iar friend

The man on whom I did de­pend

Who ate my bread

pre­tend­ing zeal

Against me lift­ed up his heel.

In mer­cy raise me up

O Lord

To ren­der foes a due re­ward.

By this I know Thy love re­mains

Because my foe no tri­umph gains.

Thou dost my steps di­rect aright

And set me ev­er in Thy sight.

Let Is­ra­el’s God

Je­ho­vah

then

Be ev­er blest. Amen

amen.