You have put gladness in my heart, more than when their grain and their new wine are increased.

to judge the fatherless and the oppressed, that man who is of the earth may terrify no more. For the Chief Musician. By David.

Then I beat them small as the dust before the wind. I cast them out as the mire of the streets.

More to be desired are they than gold, yes, than much fine gold; sweeter also than honey and the extract of the honeycomb.

For yet a little while, and the wicked will be no more. Yes, though you look for his place, he isn't there.

Oh spare me, that I may recover strength, before I go away, and exist no more." For the Chief Musician. A Psalm by David.

Many, Yahweh, my God, are the wonderful works which you have done, and your thoughts which are toward us. They can't be declared back to you. If I would declare and speak of them, they are more than can be numbered.

For innumerable evils have surrounded me. My iniquities have overtaken me, so that I am not able to look up. They are more than the hairs of my head. My heart has failed me.

"An evil disease," they say, "has afflicted him. Now that he lies he shall rise up no more."

All your garments smell like myrrh, aloes, and cassia. Out of ivory palaces stringed instruments have made you glad.

You love evil more than good, lying rather than speaking the truth. Selah.

Consume them in wrath. Consume them, and they will be no more. Let them know that God rules in Jacob, to the ends of the earth. Selah.

I sink in deep mire, where there is no foothold. I have come into deep waters, where the floods overflow me.

Those who hate me without a cause are more than the hairs of my head. Those who want to cut me off, being my enemies wrongfully, are mighty. I have to restore what I didn't take away.

Deliver me out of the mire, and don't let me sink. Let me be delivered from those who hate me, and out of the deep waters.

In his days, the righteous shall flourish, and abundance of peace, until the moon is no more.

Glorious are you, and excellent, more than mountains of game.

"Will the Lord reject us forever? Will he be favorable no more?

"Come," they say, "and let's destroy them as a nation, that the name of Israel may be remembered no more."

Yahweh loves the gates of Zion more than all the dwellings of Jacob.

set apart among the dead, like the slain who lie in the grave, whom you remember no more. They are cut off from your hand.

For the wind passes over it, and it is gone. Its place remembers it no more.

Let sinners be consumed out of the earth. Let the wicked be no more. Bless Yahweh, my soul. Praise Yah!

Seek Yahweh and his strength. Seek his face forever more.

May Yahweh increase you more and more, you and your children.

I have more understanding than all my teachers, for your testimonies are my meditation.

I understand more than the aged, because I have kept your precepts.

How sweet are your promises to my taste, more than honey to my mouth!

Therefore I love your commandments more than gold, yes, more than pure gold.

What will be given to you, and what will be done more to you, you deceitful tongue?

My soul longs for the Lord more than watchmen long for the morning; more than watchmen for the morning.

If I would count them, they are more in number than the sand. When I wake up, I am still with you.