7 And now, O Lord, what wait I for?my hope is fix'd on thee.
8 Free me from all my trespasses,the fool's scorn make not me.
9 Dumb was I, op'ning not my mouth,because this work was thine.
10 Thy stroke take from me; by the blowof thine hand I do pine.
11 When with rebukes thou dost correctman for iniquity,Thou wastes his beauty like a moth:sure each man's vanity.
12 Attend my cry, Lord, at my tearsand pray'rs not silent be:I sojourn as my fathers all,and stranger am with thee.
13 O spare thou me, that I my strengthrecover may again,Before from hence I do depart,and here no more remain.