PSALM LVII.

George Burgess

To God, the sov'reign God of all,
My champion in the heav'ns, I call;
His love and truth shall hold me safe,
When fierce destroyers roar and chafe.

My soul is in a lion's den;
My dwelling is mid fiery men;
Their teeth as spears and arrows tear,
Their tongue is like a faulchion bare.

Be thou, O God, exalted high,
In thy bright realms beyond the sky;
And far as stretch the earth and sea,
Let thine own glory rise to thee.

Along my path their net was spread;
They bow'd them down to watch my tread;
A treach'rous pit their hands prepar'd,
And there they fell, themselves ensnar'd.

My heart is tun'd, O God my King,
My heart is tun'd, to praise and sing:
Awake, my glory ; lute and lyre;
I wake, with morning's eastern fire.

Amidst the realms I praise my Lord,
Amidst the nations' glad accord:
Thy mercy high as heav'n ascends,
Thy truth beyond the clouds extends.

Be thou, O God, exalted high
In thy bright realms beyond the sky;
And far as stretch the earth and sea,
Let thine own glory rise to thee.