PSALM LXXVIII.

George Burgess

We heard them from our hoary sires,
Nor on our tongues the tale expires;
Our sons the Lord's high praise shall swell,
And far his glorious wonders tell.

For he a law in Jacob set,
And sire and son might ne'er forget;
Our sires preserv'd it for their heirs,
Our sons shall yield it pure to theirs;

That on their God they rest them still,
And love his name, and work his will,
Nor, like their fathers' faithless heart,
From God's unchanging cause depart.

So Ephraim's archers turn'd away,
And fled in battle's stormy day,
Forsook his cov'nant and his law,
Forgot the works their fathers saw;

The wonders wrought on Egypt's strand,
The signs in Zoan's fruitful land;
He cleft their passage through the deep,
And pil'd the billows' rampart heap.

He march'd before their fainting sight,
A cloud by day, a fire by night;
He smote the rock, and waters burst,
And desert torrents cool'd their thirst.

They sinn'd the more; and pride and lust
Denied the arm most High their trust:
Their hearts the Lord's long-suff'ring tried,
Their murm'ring lips for banquets cried.

\"Can God e'en here a table spread,
And give his people plenteous bread?
He smote the rock, and torrents pour'd;
Can that same hand heap high our board?\"

Then heard the Lord, and fast as fire
Through Israel swept his blazing ire:
On unbelief its vengeance came,
And harden'd hearts provok'd the flame.

For he had op'd th' eternal doors,
And bade the clouds unlock their stores:
The manna's grain of heav'n they rain'd,
And food from angels man sustain'd.

But now he sent the eastern blast,
And in his pow'r the south wind pass'd;
And flesh, like dust, o'erspread the land,
And birds, like ocean's countless sand.

Through all their camp it lay around;
At ev'ry tent it strew'd the ground:
They feasted long as lust could crave,
For all their heart's desire he gave.

But ere their joyous tumult ceas'd,
The wrath of God disturbed the feast;
He smote the revellers in their pride,
And Israel's chosen bow'd and died.

Again, again, they rush'd to sin,
Nor all his works their trust could win:
And therefore sped their days and years
In fruitless toil and frequent tears.

Bow'd down beneath his wasting rod,
They early turn'd, and sought their God;
To God their Rock they rais'd their eye,
To their Redeemer, God most High.

But vain the vows their sorrow wrung,
And falsely pray'd their trembling tongue;
Their treach'rous heart was never true,
And far his covenant's bands they threw.

Yet oft the gracious God forgave;
He stay'd his wrath, he longed to save:
He knew us flesh, howe'er we soar;
A wind that goes, and comes no more.

How many a time their souls rebell'd,
While yet their desert way they held;
Against their Lord to murmurs broke,
And dar'd their holy Sovereign's stroke!

They thought not on his rescuing arm;
The day he sav'd from hate and harm;
The wonders wrought on Egypt's strand,
The signs in Zoan's fruitful land;

How, red with blood roll'd by the wave,
Nor one pure fount its waters gave;
How insect clouds above them low'r'd,
And marshy swarms their land devour'd.

The wasting worm laid bare their soil;
The locust reap'd their yearly toil;
Their vines to earth the hailstones bore,
Their spreading fig-trees leafless tore.

Their herds the tempest's prey he doom'd,
Their flocks his fiery shafts consum'd;
He sent them vengeance, wrath and woe,
And angels came for ill below.

He gave his fury pathway wide;
The pest swept onward, and they died:
On Egypt's chosen fell the sword;
The tents of Ham their flow'r deplor'd.

But forth, across the desert's sands,
Like flocks he led his people's bands:
With him they march'd, without a fear;
The whelming waters clos'd their rear.

To his own land their tribes he brought,
The holy mount his arm had bought;
Afar he strew'd the heathen hosts,
And Israel dwelt through all their coasts.

And yet was God most High defied;
Yet turn'd they from his laws aside;
Back, on their fathers' path, would go;
And started, like a treach'rous bow.

With idol shrines they mock'd the Lord;
He heard, and Israel's race abhorr'd:
No more his light on Shiloh glow'd,
The tent where God with men abode.

He gave his strength to stranger lands,
His glorious ark to foemen's hands:
The sword amid his people fed,
And in his wrath his chosen bled.

Red o'er their youths the death-fire blaz'd;
No nuptial song their virgins rais'd;
Their priesthood fell before their foes;
And yet no widow's wail arose.

Then woke the Lord, as dreamers wake,
When sleep and wine their soul forsake;
As starts a giant with a shout,
He chas'd their foes in shameful rout.

But not e'en then on Joseph's tent,
Or Ephraim's tribe, his choice was bent:
He chose the men of Judah's race;
He chose Mount Sion's holy place.

Firm as the heav'ns its base he cast,
Firm as the earth's foundations fast:
Then from the folds his servant led,
And fix'd the crown on David's head.

He brought him from the pasture's mead,
His Israel's flock to rule and feed:
He fed them with an upright heart,
And rul'd their way with princely art.