PSALM CXLIX.

George Burgess

Oh, praise his name with harp and voice,
With timbrels clang, and measur'd tread;
He loves the people of his choice,
And wreathes with joy the humble head.

Oh, let his honoured saints be strong,
And sing and slumber undismayed;
To God's high praise attune the song,
And grasp with might the conqu'ring blade.

So let them quell the broad domains
Where Gentile darkness hung till now;
And bind their kings with iron chains,
Their chiefs in lowly fetters bow:

So let them bear th' avenging rod,
And do his word's own just award:
Such glory waits the saints of God,
Through distant years: oh, praise the Lord!