PSALM XXI.

George Burgess

His heart's desire, his lips' request,
Thy love would naught withhold;
But all his path with goodness bless'd,
And crown'd his brow with gold.

He ask'd for life: that love bestow'd
Eternal length of days;
And thy salvation spread his road
To kingly state and praise.

Blessing and bless'd, while ages fly,
He sees thy beaming face:
He cannot fall, O Lord most high,
Who gloried in thy grace.

Thy strong right hand shall reach thy foes;
And thy devouring ire
Shall wrap them round, as whirls and glows
The raging furnace fire.

Thy blast their early fruit shall chill,
And quench their wasted seed:
For tow'rds thy throne their pow'rless will
Had aim'd the rebel deed.

So shall their shoulder turn in flight,
When thou shalt draw the string:
Arise, O Lord, in thine own might,
And we thy might shall sing!