PSALM LV.

George Burgess

While high the shouts of malice ring,
And vile oppressors rage;
While sorrow on my head they fling,
And fiery warfare wage.

Around my faint and groaning heart
Death spreads its awful shade;
And trembling, at each sound I start,
With horrid dreams afraid.

Oh, I have cried, had I the wing,
Like yon swift dove to roam!
Then should my spirit upward spring,
And seek a peaceful home.

Afar, in some untrodden waste,
Would I my shelter find;
And joyful to its covert haste,
And leave the storm behind.

Destroy, O Lord, their counsels dark;
Their crafty tongues divide:
For, round these walls, mine eye must mark
The step of strife and pride.

By day they rage, by night they prowl;
And crime and sorrow meet:
Guilt holds with guile its dwelling foul,
Nor leaves the blood-stain'd street.

It was no scoff of ancient hate;
Such taunt I scarce would dread:
No open foe grew bold and great;
Then, I had seen and fled:

But thou, as mine own bosom dear,
My guide, with whom I trod,
While words of sweetness charm'd the ear,
Up to the house of God.

Let ambush'd death their haughty prime
Sweep downward to the tomb:
For in their dwellings dwells the crime
That mocks the lingering doom.

But I will call on God most High,
The Lord, my Saviour near:
At eve, at morn, at noon, I cry,
And he my voice shall hear.

He guards my peace through stormy strife,
And hosts my cause maintain:
The Lord, enthron'd in endless life,
Breaks down the hostile train.

They will not turn ; his wrath they dare;
They stretch their trait'rous hands
Against the men whose peace they swear;
Against their cov'nant's bands.

More soft than milk, the accents steal;
War fills the heart unseen:
More smooth than oil, they seem to heal;
Each word a faulchion keen.

Cast on the Lord his wisdom's gift,
Thy doom, whate'er betide:
His arm shall all thy burdens lift;
The righteous shall not slide.

O God, before thine anger's blaze
To death's dark gulf they flee;
For blood and fraud make transient days;
But I will trust in thee.