Isaac Watts
Phoebus
Lord, in the morning thou shalt hear
My voice ascending high;
To thee will I direct my prayer
To thee lift up mine eye;

Up to the hills where Christ is gone
To plead for all his saints
Presenting at his Father's throne
Our songs and our complaints

Thou art a God, before whose sight
The wicked shall not stand;
Sinners shall ne'er be thy delight
Nor dwell at thy right hand

But to thy house will I resort
To taste thy mercies there;
I will frequent thine holy court
And worship in thy fear

O may thy Spirit guide my feet
In ways of righteousnеss!
Make every path of duty straight
And plain bеfore my face

My watchful enemies combine
To tempt my feet astray;
They flatter, with a base design
To make my soul their prey
Lord, crush the serpent in the dust
And all his plots destroy;
While those that in thy mercy trust
For ever shout for joy

The men that love and fear thy name
Shall see their hopes fulfilled;
The mighty God will compass them
With favor as a shield