From the mouths of infants and sucklings Thou hast founded strength, Because of Thine adversaries, To still an enemy and a self-avenger.

What! bowest thou thyself, O my soul? Yea, art thou troubled within me? Wait for God, for still I confess Him: The salvation of my countenance -- My God!

What! bowest thou thyself, O my soul? And what! art thou troubled within me? Wait for God, for still I confess Him, The salvation of my countenance, and my God!

What! bowest thou thyself, O my soul? And what! art thou troubled within me? Wait for God, for still I confess Him, The salvation of my countenance, and my God!

And still he liveth for ever, He seeth not the pit.

From heaven Thou hast sounded judgment, Earth hath feared, and hath been still,

And they add still to sin against Him, To provoke the Most High in the dry place.

Still they bring forth in old age, Fat and flourishing are they,

I recount them! than the sand they are more, I have waked, and I am still with Thee.

The righteous doth beat me in kindness. And doth reprove me, Oil of the head my head disalloweth not, For still my prayer is about their vexations.