PSALM LX.

George Burgess

Earth reels beneath thy vengeful stroke;
Oh, heal the breaches thou hast broke:
In troublous scenes thy people pine,
And drink confusion's deadly wine.

Yet thou a banner fair hast rear'd,
To tell thy name where thou wert fear'd;
Far o'er thy hosts belov'd to wave;
Then hear, and stretch thine arm, and save.

And hark, the Lord lifts high his voice,
And in his word my ears rejoice:
I haste old Shechem's walls to scale,
And stretch my line o'er Succoth's vale.

And mine are Gilead's fruitful hills;
And mine the fields Manasseh tills;
My helmet's strength are Ephraim's bands;
My sceptre rests in Judah's hands.

In Moab's streams my feet I lave,
And cast my shoe to Edom's slave:
Philistia, raise thy joyous cry.
To see thy conqu'ring lord so nigh.

But who shall lead our trembling powers,
And bring to Edom's battled tow'rs?
And hast thou cast us. Lord, away,
And lead'st no more our weak array?

Oh, give us aid from trouble's chain;
For man's poor aid is false and vain:
We march, with God's victorious might,
And he shall tread our foes in flight.