PSALM XLI.

George Burgess

Thy blessing o'er his home shall smile,
And shield his breast from hostile guile,
And, when he bows his sick'ning head,
Shall comfort's downy pillow spread.

Such mercy, Lord, on me bestow,
And heal my soul from guilt and woe;
For now my foes blaspheming cry,
\"When shall his name behind him die?\"

And if they come, and mark my pain,
Their treach'rous words are cordials vain;
Their inmost heart has stor'd deceit,
And spreads it through the swarming street.

Their whispering lips of evil speak;
They boast the woes they long to wreak;
\"Beneath an iron grasp he lies;
From that sad bed no more to rise!\"

E'en he who seem'd my bosom guide,
So long belov'd with friendship tried,
So welcome to my household bread,
He lifts his heel, to stamp my head.

Lift thou that head, thou gracious Lord,
With strength to yield their dread reward:
And, since not yet their triumph rings,
I know thy love around me clings.

Thou keep'st my blameless steps aright;
In peace I stand beneath thy sight:
Bless'd be the Lord, our Israel's rest,
Forever and forever bless'd!
Amen. Amen.