PSALM CXVIII.

George Burgess

Let Aaron's house adoring cry,
His love shall ne'er be past:
Let all that fear the Lord reply,
His love shall always last.

From the dark portals of despair,
I called, O Lord, on thee:
The Lord vouchsaf'd to hear my pray'r,
And made my footstep free.

The Lord is mine; and mortal bands
Shall ne'er my soul appal:
The Lord with my defenders stands,
I see my foemen fall.

Far better to the Lord to cling,
Than lean on mortal dust:
Far better own the Lord our King,
Than kingly crowns to trust.

Around my ambush'd path they came,
All nations in their might;
But in the Lord's triumphant name
I drove them in the fight.

On ev'ry side their armies came,
They rush'd on ev'ry side;
But in the Lord's triumphant name
I trod their armies wide.

Like countless bees, in swarms they came,
Like blazing thorns they pass'd;
For in the Lord's triumphant name
I swept them to the blast.

Sore, fierce and deadly was thy stroke,
O thou vindictive arm!
But God's strong shield its fury broke,
And turn'd th' impending harm.

The Lord, the Saviour of my trust,
Is still my strength and song:
And still the dwellings of the just
The voice of joy prolong.

The Lord's right hand does wondrous deeds;
The Lord's right hand is high;
The Lord's right hand the vict'ry speeds;
I am not doom'd to die.

I live, to speak the might of God,
While he upholds my breath:
He sent on me the chast'ning rod,
But not the sword of death.

Ope wide the gates, the holy gates,
Where deigns the Lord to dwell;
That, where the just assembly waits,
My lips his praise may tell.

I praise the Lord, who heard my voice,
And my deliv'rance sped:
The stone that won no builder's choice
Is now the corner's head.

This is the work the Lord hath done;
With wond'ring joy we gaze:
This is the Lord's own morning sun;
We triumph in its blaze.

Oh, hear us, Lord, and save us still;
Oh, hear us. Lord, and bless;
While on his head who speaks thy will
We ask thy rich success.

Forth from the Lord's own temple walls
We lift the glad acclaim;
\"Bless'd be his work, who comes and calls
In God's most holy name!\"

The Lord is God: as radiant morn,
On us his light hath shin'd:
Then, fast around the altar's horn,
The spotless victim bind.

Thou art my God; thou art my King:
My thanks shall ne'er be past:
Oh, come, the Lord's high mercies sing,
Whose love shall always last.