Isaac Watts Poems

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v.1-9
C. M.
Prayer and faith of persecuted saints.

Now plead my cause, Almighty God,
With all the sons of strife;
And fight against the men of blood,
Who fight against my life.

Draw out thy spear and stop their way,
Lift thine avenging rod;
But to my soul in mercy say,
"I am thy Savior God!"

They plant their snares to catch my feet,
And nets of mischief spread;
Plunge the destroyers in the pit
That their own hands have made.

Let fogs and darkness hide their way,
And slipp'ry be their ground;
Thy wrath shall make their lives a prey,
And all their rage confound.

They fly like chaff before the wind,
Before thine angry breath;
The angel of the Lord behind
Pursues them down to death.

They love the road that leads to hell;
Then let the rebels die,
Whose malice is implacable
Against the Lord on high.

But if thou hast a chosen few
Amongst that impious race,
Divide them from the bloody crew,
By thy surprising grace.

Then will I raise my tuneful voice,
To make thy wonders known;
In their salvation I'll rejoice,
And bless thee for my own.

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