Psalms 9:9-16

GOD’s a safe-house for the battered, a sanctuary during bad times. The moment you arrive, you relax; you’re never sorry you knocked. 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.