Psalm 16–17

A David Song

^1–216Keep me safe, O God,

I’ve run for dear life to you.

I say to God, “Be my Lord!”

Without you, nothing makes sense.

³And these God-chosen lives all around—

what splendid friends they make!

⁴Don’t just go shopping for a god.

Gods are not for sale.

I swear I’ll never treat god-names

like brand-names.

^5–6My choice is you, God, first and only.

And now I find I’m your choice!

You set me up with a house and yard.

And then you made me your heir!

^7–8The wise counsel God gives when I’m awake

is confirmed by my sleeping heart.

Day and night I’ll stick with God;

I’ve got a good thing going and I’m not letting go.

^9–10I’m happy from the inside out,

and from the outside in, I’m firmly formed.

You canceled my ticket to hell—

that’s not my destination!

¹¹Now you’ve got my feet on the life path,

all radiant from the shining of your face.

Ever since you took my hand,

I’m on the right way.

A David Prayer

^1–217Listen while I build my case, God,

the most honest prayer you’ll ever hear.

Show the world I’m innocent—

in your heart you know I am.

³Go ahead, examine me from inside out,

surprise me in the middle of the night—

You’ll find I’m just what I say I am.

My words don’t run loose.

^4–5I’m not trying to get my way

in the world’s way.

I’m trying to get your way,

your Word’s way.

I’m staying on your trail;

I’m putting one foot

In front of the other.

I’m not giving up.

^6–7I call to you, God, because I’m sure of an answer.

So—answer! bend your ear! listen sharp!

Paint grace-graffiti on the fences;

take in your frightened children who

Are running from the neighborhood bullies

straight to you.

^8–9Keep your eye on me;

hide me under your cool wing feathers

From the wicked who are out to get me,

from mortal enemies closing in.

^10–14Their hearts are hard as nails,

their mouths blast hot air.

They are after me, nipping my heels,

determined to bring me down,

Lions ready to rip me apart,

young lions poised to pounce.

Up, God: beard them! break them!

By your sword, free me from their clutches;

Barehanded, God, break these mortals,

these flat-earth people who can’t think beyond today.

I’d like to see their bellies

swollen with famine food,

The weeds they’ve sown

harvested and baked into famine bread,

With second helpings for their children

and crusts for their babies to chew on.

¹⁵And me? I plan on looking

you full in the face. When I get up,

I’ll see your full stature

and live heaven on earth.