PSALM CXII.

George Burgess

All blessings rest, in rich reward,
On his pure head, who loves the Lord,
Bears on his breast a righteous fear,
And deems the law his joy most dear.

Children of children yet shall grace,
Through distant years, his rising race:
Death bears him to his silent rest,
But still his upright seed are bless'd.

Earth's utmost wealth shall deck his hearth,
And wealth that mocks the wealth of earth:
For his just lot is giv'n on high,
And lasts beyond the changing sky.

Glad beams, like morn, his path shall crown,
When midnight's shades come darkest down:
His bounteous hands, his pitying heart,
Shall find from mercy mercy's part.

In days of need the just befriends,
And gladly gives, and largely lends:
Kind thoughts the upright bosom bears,
And wisdom lightens all its cares.

Like billows on the changeless rock,
On him shall troubles pour their shock:
Memorials bless'd his name shall hold,
And bosoms dear his form enfolds

No tidings dread shall daunt his ear;
He trusts the Lord, and cannot fear:
On God's strong love his breast reclines,
And peace within, and glory shines.

Pure rests he thus in God's repose,
And shall not shrink, mid stormy foes;
Rests, till his eye its wish shall see,
And all his stormy foes shall flee.

Strewn far and wide, to cheer the poor,
His righteous wealth shall still endure;
Till high his honour'd head shall rise,
When earth's dim glory fades and dies.

Vainly the sinner, bound beneath,
Shall gaze from far, and gnash his teeth;
While all his impious dreams decay,
And hope and pride melt all away.