PSALM CXLVII.

George Burgess

The Lord, on Salem's lofty crest,
Rebuilds her ruin'd walls;
And back to Israel's ancient rest
The exil'd race recalls.

He comes to soothe the couch of woe,
And all its pains depart:
He pours the healing balsam's flow,
And binds the bleeding heart.

He tells yon host that gem the skies,
And names each starry light:
Great is the Lord, and greatly wise,
Beyond a creature's sight.

The Lord, in endless pow'r Supreme,
Exalts the humble head;
And breaks the sinner's guilty dream
Beneath his conqu'ring tread.

Oh, answer to the Lord with songs,
With songs of sacred fire:
Oh, lift; to God a strain of throngs,
And wake the sounding lyre.

The clouds' dark march o'er heav'n he guides,
And sends the rushing rain:
He clothes the grassy mountain's sides,
And clothes the velvet plain.

The beasts' wide wants his care supplies,
From hill and field and wood;
He hears the nestling ravens' cries,
And gives them plenteous food.

He joys not in the might of steeds,
In footmen swift; or strong;
The Lord's delight are righteous deeds,
And hearts that wait him long.

O Salem, high his hymn resound;
Let Sion's God be bless'd!
His arm has fenc'd thy portals round,
And giv'n thy children rest.

Through all thy vales he yields thee peace,
And on thy guarded shore;
And fills with all the fields' increase
Thy gamers' golden store.

Wide o'er the world his word he sends.
And, fast as breezes fly,
To utmost earth's untrodden ends
His fleet commandments hie.

He spreads like wool the snowy sheet,
The frost like ashes casts;
He drives in storms his icy sleet;
And who can bear his blasts?

He sends his word: o'er frozen plains
The milder breezes blow;
And leaping from their melting chains,
The joyous torrents flow.

He shew'd his laws to Israel's bands,
To Jacob's seed his word;
So know his deeds no heathen lands;
Oh, praise the gracious Lord!