He who is dwelling In the secret place of the Most High, In the shade of the Mighty lodgeth habitually,

He is saying of Jehovah, `My refuge, and my bulwark, my God, I trust in Him,'

For He delivereth thee from the snare of a fowler, From a calamitous pestilence.

With His pinion He covereth thee over, And under His wings thou dost trust, A shield and buckler `is' His truth.

Thou art not afraid of fear by night, Of arrow that flieth by day,

Of pestilence in thick darkness that walketh, Of destruction that destroyeth at noon,

There fall at thy side a thousand, And a myriad at thy right hand, Unto thee it cometh not nigh.

But with thine eyes thou lookest, And the reward of the wicked thou seest,

(For Thou, O Jehovah, `art' my refuge,) The Most High thou madest thy habitation.

Evil happeneth not unto thee, And a plague cometh not near thy tent,

For His messengers He chargeth for thee, To keep thee in all thy ways,

On the hands they bear thee up, Lest thou smite against a stone thy foot.

On lion and asp thou treadest, Thou trampest young lion and dragon.

Because in Me he hath delighted, I also deliver him -- I set him on high, Because he hath known My name.

He doth call Me, and I answer him, I `am' with him in distress, I deliver him, and honour him.

With length of days I satisfy him, And I cause him to look on My salvation!