PSALM CXXXVIII.

George Burgess

I bow me tow'rd thy holy place,
And thank thy faithful name;
For thou hast rais'd thy word of grace
O'er all thine ancient fame.

I call'd thee in my day of need,
Nor long thine answer staid;
Thou arm'd'st my soul with strength and speed,
By thine almighty aid.

All kings of earth thy words shall hear,
And lift their thankful voice,
The greatness of thy glory fear,
And on thy paths rejoice.

The Lord's pure throne is fix'd on high;
But thence in mercy bow'd,
Dwells on the poor his gracious eye,
And knows from far the proud.

Though I must walk mid thronging woes,
Thy love shall give me life:
Thy strong right hand shall crush my foes,
And end their stormy strife.

The Lord shall all my cause fulfil;
His mercies cannot fade:
Oh, leave not, Lord, in days of ill,
The work thy hands have made.