PSALM CIX.

George Burgess

In causeless war they spread the murd'rous snare,
By many a curse give back a brother's pray'r,
With ill on ill my purpose kind repel,
And hate the heart that lov'd them once so well.

Place thou a tyrant o'er his falling race;
At his right hand a fierce accuser place;
Condemn his cause in judgment's awful time,
And let his pray'r but swell his load of crime.

Few be his days, and soon his sentence seal'd,
And let another's hand his office wield;
Let his lorn spouse forsake his desert home,
And far for bread his helpless children roam.

Let strangers spoil his wealth, and none so dear
To give his children's woes a kindly tear:
Destroy their name from each familiar spot,
And let a few fleet years their hist'ry blot.

Still let his father's sins before thee lie,
Still on his mother's guilt be fix'd thine eye;
Nor let their tale of crime thy mem'ry shun,
Till all their name be quench'd beneath the sun.

For in his prosp'rous pride he would not heed
Sweet mercy's voice, nor love's benignant deed;
But tow'rds the poor and wretched aim'd his stroke,
And crush'd to earth the hearts which thou hadst broke.

He lov'd the curse ; on him the curse shall be:
He chose not blessing ; blessing far shall flee:
As round him cursing like a cloak he drew,
So let it pierce his heart and members through.

Within, like searching oil or waters cold,
Without, a mantle's all-embracing fold,
A constant girdle girded to their breast,
The Lord's dread curse with mine accusers rest.

O Lord my God, in thy dear love be near;
With thy great name to save my cause appear:
Wretched, and poor, and ready to depart,
Before thy throne I bow my broken heart.

Brief as the evening shadow on the plain,
Chas'd, like the locust from the rip'ning grain,
With fainting knees and failing flesh I tread,
And foes look on, and shake the scornful head.

Save me, O Lord my God, in mercy save,
And let them see what arm salvation gave,
And in thy deeds the sov'reign Lord confess:
So, let them curse me. Lord, if thou but bless.

Oh, when they rise, bring down their pride to dust,
And let thy servant glory in his trust;
And let their tow'ring heads with shame be crown'd,
And shame, for robes of beauty, wrap them round.

My mouth shall praise the Lord with lofty songs,
My lips shall praise him mid adoring throngs;
For on the poor's right hand in might he stands,
And guards the victim, doom'd by impious bands.