PSALM XL.

George Burgess

High on a rock he set my feet,
And taught my voice to sing
A new-made song, so loud and sweet,
That hosts shall hear it, and repeat
The praises of my King.

How bless'd to seek his shelt'ring place,
Nor turn at falsehood's call!
O Lord my God, thy works of grace,
Thy thoughts of love, oh, who can trace,
Oh, who can count them all!

Thou wilt not victims burn'd for guilt,
The guiltless and the dumb;
Thou wilt not votive blood-drops spilt,
But op'st mine ears to all thou wilt,
And therefore, Lord, I come.

I come to follow that fair chart,
Thy sacred word and will;
'Tis deep engrav'd within my heart;
My lips shall all thy truth impart,
And all thy praise fulfil.

My lips thy truth and praise shall tell,
Where all thy people throng:
Thou know'st, O Lord, how boldly swell,
When on thy saving strength they dwell,
My heart, and harp, and song.

Then, Lord my God, withhold not now
Thy stedfast truth and love!
More than the hairs that shade my brow,
The griefs beneath whose load I bow,
And scarce can look above.

My sins around my bosom cling,
And droops my captive life:
Oh, come with speed thy mercy's wing,
Haste, my Deliv'rer and my King,
And end this anxious strife.

Let shame and trouble whelm them all,
Who hem my guiltless track:
Let them who ask my fatal fall,
And loud \"aha!\" in insult call,
Be chas'd in ruin back.

Joy be with them who joy in thee,
'Till \"God be prais'd!\" they say:
And I, though poor and lone I flee,
Will hope the Lord's kind arm to see:
My God, make no delay!