Psalms 9:11-20

Sing your songs to Zion-dwelling GOD, tell his stories to everyone you meet: How he tracks down killers yet keeps his eye on us, registers every whimper and moan. Be kind to me, GOD; I’ve been kicked around long enough. Once you’ve pulled me back from the gates of death, I’ll write the book on Hallelujahs; on the corner of Main and First I’ll hold a street meeting; I’ll be the song leader; we’ll fill the air with salvation songs. They’re trapped, those godless countries, in the very snares they set, Their feet all tangled in the net they spread. They have no excuse; the way God works is well-known. The shrewd machinery made by the wicked has maimed their own hands. The wicked bought a one-way ticket to hell. No longer will the poor be nameless— no more humiliation for the humble. Up, GOD! Aren’t you fed up with their empty strutting? Expose these grand pretensions! Shake them up, GOD! Show them how silly they look.