PSALM LXXI.

George Burgess

Oh, send thy rescuing pow'r,
That I may always flee,
And find my rock and sheltering tow'r,
And fortress. Lord, in thee.

Redeem me, God my King,
From fierce and treacherous hands:
My only hope, from youth's fair spring,
In thee unchanging stands.

From life's first dawning ray,
From nature's ent'ring gate,
Thy hand has op'd and led my way,
That hand my praises wait.

Thy shelter safe I seek,
While wond'ring throngs adore;
Oh, let my lips thy glory seek,
My song forever soar.

And cast me not away,
When age has bar'd my brow;
Forsake me not, when, old and gray,
My falt'ring limbs I bow.

My foes' wild fury breaks
In one tumultuous cry;
\"Pursue and slay! his God forsakes;
No Saviour's arm is nigh.\"

Oh, go not far, my Lord!
Thy strong, swift aid disclose:
Let shame and scorn and woe reward
My soul's remorseless foes.

But I will hope and praise,
And high my song shall swell;
And still my lips, through endless days,
Shall thy salvation tell.

I cannot count thy gifts,
But, clad in strength divine,
The praise my pilgrim spirit lifts
Is thine, is only thine.

My youth the Lord has led,
And I his praise have told:
Forsake not. Lord, my hoary head,
My falt'ring limbs and cold;

Till I have shew'd thy pow'r
To ages yet to be:
How high, O Lord, thy judgments tow'r!
Oh, who shall vie with thee!

Thou gav'st me want and woe,
And thou shalt blessing give;
Till, bursting from the depths below,
My soul in thee shall live.

So, girt with mercy round,
Thy truth, my God, I sing,
And wake the harp's and psalt'ry's sound
To Israel's holy King.

My hymn and ransom'd heart
To thee shall always rise;
For lo, th'ensnarer drops his dart,
And, sham'd and silent, flies.