PSALM CVI.

George Burgess

How bless'd are they, whose upright tread
From truth's fair path no snare has led!
O Lord, on me in mercy shine,
And be thy servants' portion mine.

Let thy salvation come to me,
That I thy chosen's bliss may see,
Amidst thy people's joy rejoice,
And lift with theirs my thankful voice.

But we have sinn'd: with dread accord
Our sires and we have scorn'd the Lord:
Our sires forgot his deeds of grace,
His wonders wrought on Egypt's race:

They trespass'd by the Red Sea's wave,
Yet there his arm was nigh to save;
He sav'd them for his own great name,
And spread afar his sov'reign fame.

He chid the sea, and open lay
Through billowy walls their guarded way;
And safe as on the desert's sand,
He bore them from th' oppressor's hand.

Dark o'er their foes the flood came down;
Not one was left, nor crest nor crown:
Then God's true word his tribes ador'd,
And high their song of triumph soar'd.

But ah, how soon, redeem'd from harm,
Their heart forgot the rescuing arm!
They ask'd no more his counsel true,
But hot desire to madness grew.

They cried for bread with rebel haste;
They murmur'd on their pathway waste:
God gave them all their lust would crave,
And lust's own plagues in vengeance gave.

In peaceful tents secure they lay,
And envied Moses' guardian sway,
And envied Aaron's saintly rod,
And dar'd the outstretch'd arm of God.

Earth op'd her mouth; and Dathan died,
And sank Abiram's band of pride:
A fire along their armies flew,
And wasting flames th' ungodly slew.

At Horeb's base a calf they made;
Around the molten mass they pray'd;
And set in God's most glorious seat
The beast that grazes at our feet.

Forgot was he, their Saviour strong,
Who bore them from th' Egyptian's wrong,
In Ham's dark land his wonders show'd,
And through the sea spread wide their road.

Then spake the Lord his awful doom,
To sweep them to their common tomb;
But in the breach his prophet stood,
And turn'd aside the wrathful flood.

They scorn'd his land of fair delight;
They would not trust his promis'd might;
Within their tents secure they lay,
And cast their God's true words away.

Then rear'd the Lord his hand, and sware
To waste their rebel armies there,
To strew them on the desert sands,
And drive their seed to distant lands.

They bow'd to Peor's imag'd lord,
And ate the idol's feasts abhorr'd;
They dar'd in pride their Maker's stroke,
And forth the plague of judgment broke.

Then Phineas rose, the faithful priest,
And while he pray'd, the vengeance ceas'd:
Thrice honour'd name! through endless days
That righteous deed shall waft his praise.

They strove beside the Fount of Strife,
And Moses gave his forfeit life;
For then their guilt his spirit stung,
Till rashly spoke his erring tongue.

They spared the race whom God would slay;
They trod the Pagan's impious way;
At idol shrines they made their pray'r,
And fell within the heathen's snare.

To Canaan's demon gods they bore
Their murder'd sons, their daughters' gore:
Blood, guiltless blood, their shores profan'd,
Their offspring's blood their garments stain'd.

Their works of guilt, their ways of guile,
Estrang'd the Lord's protecting smile:
Red o'er his tribes his wrath arose;
He loath'd the realm that once he chose.

He gave them to the heathen's rod;
Stern on their necks their foemen trod;
And fast th' oppressor's chain was riv'n,
So oft they sinn'd, so oft forgiv'n.

For still they chose their evil will,
And pride ensnar'd and crush'd them still:
But when he saw their contrite tears,
Then rose their cry to pitying ears.

Then all his cov'nant sworn return'd,
And all his ancient mercy burn'd;
And e'en within their foemen's heart
He bade the streams of pity start

Still, Lord our God, from heathen lands
Redeem and lead our scatter'd bands,
Thy sov'reign name in songs to raise,
And triumph in thy holy praise.

Lord God of Israel, praise to thee,
As ever was, and e'er shall be:
Let all with glad amen accord,
And ev'ry people bless our Lord!