7 Our bones are scattered at the grave's mouth, as when one cutteth and cleaveth wood upon the earth.
8 But my eyes are to thee, O GOD the Lord: in thee is my trust; leave not my soul destitute.
9 Keep me from the snare which they have laid for me, and the gins of the workers of iniquity.
10 Let the wicked fall into their own nets, whilst I escape.