PSALM L.

George Burgess

He calls the heav'n, he bids the dust
Its peopling myriads waken;
'Bring all who own'd my cov'nant just,
With vows and off'rings taken:'
God comes on judgment's cloudy car;
The heav'ns shall tell his justice far,
By echoing thunders shaken.

'Hear, O my people, hear the voice
Of Israel's Sov'reign pleading;
Of God, thy God, by right and choice,
But not thy victims needing:
Thy failing shrine I will not blame,
Nor ask a firstling for the flame,
Nor flocks nor bullocks bleeding.

The forest beasts obey my will,
The mountain herds my pleasure;
The bird's wild flight o'er wood and hill
From me receives its measure;
If I could hunger, not from thee
The Lord of earth and air and sea
Would seek their ready treasure.

Can slaughtered bulls my food impart,
My drink the he-goat gory?
Give to thy God thine upright heart,
And spread thy thankful story;
And call my name in trouble's hour,
And I will send my rescuing pow'r,
And thou shalt give me glory.'

But to the wicked thus saith God;
'Why name thy lips profaning
The word thy feet in scorn have trod,
My cov'nant sworn disdaining?
The thief, th' adult'rer, thou hast met,
And sate, and fram'd thy treacherous net,
Thy brother's step enchaining.

Thou deem'd'st like thine my silent care,
But I thine eye will lighten:
Hear, ye that scorn, lest vengeance tear,
And no deliv'rer frighten:
He offers well who offers praise,
And o'er the man of upright ways
Shall my salvation brighten.'