Help, Lord, for Those Who Love Thee Fail

Help

Lord

for those who love Thee fail

Thy faith­ful ones fall from the ranks

And leave the li­ars to their tale

False gra­ti­tude and trea­cher­ous thanks.

Lord

may those flat­ter­ing lips be lashed

The boast­ing mouths stripped of their pride

Those tongues that mur­mur un­ab­ashed

Who is this God? We shall ab­ide!

Because the poor have been op­pressed

And in their pa­tience sigh alone

I will pro­tect them in My breast

The Lord has said

These are Mine own.

And what He sa­ith is pu­ri­fied

Like sil­ver

se­ven­fold as­sayed.

Though by this ev­il age de­fied

His Word of truth shall be ob­eyed.

His pro­mis­es shall stand se­cure

His saints are safe

though ill be­tide

He will pro­tect His hum­ble poor

Though rogues are hon­ored far and wide.