PSALM CXLIV.

George Burgess

The Lord, my Goodness and my Pow'r,
My Saviour and my Shield;
I trust in that embattled tow'r,
And rebel armies yield.

Lord, what is man, the child of clay,
To win thy thought or eye?
Vain as the shadows on their way,
Our days are fleeting by.

Oh, bow thy heav'ns, great God, from far,
And come in glory down:
The hills shall feel thy passing car,
And bend their smoking crown.

With lightnings light the stormy cloud,
With arrows from thy bow;
And strew the banners of the proud,
And all their strength o'erthrow.

Stretch forth thine arm, and rend the sky,
And bear me from the wave:
Though round me roll its floods so high,
Oh, yet thy suppliant save.

Save from the strangers' impious band,
Whose lips overflow with guile;
Whose arm'd right hand, a false right hand,
Belies their treach'rous smile.

A new-made song, my God and Lord,
To thee my heart shall sing:
I strike the psalt'ry's silver chord,
The lyre of tenfold string.

I sing thine arm, thine arm alone,
By highest kings ador'd,
That vict'ry gave to David's throne,
And snatch'd him from the sword.

Still save me from the strangers' band,
Whose lips overflow with guile;
Whose arm'd right hand, a false right hand,
Belies their treach'rous smile.

So, as the stately stems entwine,
Our sons shall gird our home:
Our maids like pillars fair shall shine,
That lift a royal dome:

So, ev'ry plenteous store shall fill
The gamer and the field;
So, thousands and ten thousands still
The peaceful folds shall yield:

So, strong to bear his burd'ning toil,
The gen'rous ox shall tread:
No conqu'ror's hand shall grasp the spoil,
No captive's tear be shed;

No wail along our streets shall ring:
Oh, bless'd is such a land;
Oh, bless'd the realm where God is King;
Whose strength by him shall stand!