PSALM CXI.

George Burgess

All my poor pow'rs, and all my heart,
In his dear praise shall bear their part;
Bear well their part where saints retreat,
And well where thronging thousands meet.

Creation wears his glorious name,
And wondrous deeds his might proclaim:
Delightful search of faithful love,
To mark that sov'reign hand above!

Excelling far our praises' pow'r,
His works in strength and glory tow'r;
Firm, while the ages speed their way,
His justice holds its endless way.

Good is the Lord: his deeds of grace
Shall sweet remembrance joy to trace:
He bends on man a pitying eye,
And loves to cast his vengeance by.

In famine's hour of wild complaints.
With plenteous bread he cheer'd his saints:
Kind was his cov'nant thus of old,
And still its changeless truth is told.

Led on their march by heav'nly light,
His people saw his works of might:
Mid heathen homes, their vict'ry's spoil,
He gave them rest from years of toil.

No deed unjust his throne profanes,
No promise false his glory stains;
On truth's firm rock, on judgment sure,
His wise commandments shall endure.

Pillars of earth, their laws abide,
Amidst the ages' dashing tide,
Rest on their pure, eternal base,
And rise and tow'r in holy grace.

Salvation to his own he gave,
A ransom for the fetter'd slave;
Then fix'd his cov'nant's sacred frame:
How bless'd, how holy is his name!

Upward the path of knowledge tends.
But first from God's true fear ascends:
Well are they wise who seek his ways,
And endless is his glorious praise.