N my trouble I cried to the Lord: and he heard me.
O Lord, deliver my soul from wicked lips, and a deceitful tongue.
What shall be given to thee, or what shall be added to thee, to a deceitful tongue.
The sharp arrows of the mighty, with coals that lay waste.
Woe is me, that my sojourning is prolonged! I have dwelt with the inhabitants of cedar:
my soul hath been long a sojourner. With them that hate peace I was peaceable: when I spoke to them they fought against me without cause.