PSALM LXXX.

George Burgess

Oh, come while Rachel's children see,
And bare thine arm of saving might;
And turn us, Lord, once more to thee,
And lift thy smile, and all is light.

Lord God of hosts, when cease the years,
That wrath against our pray'rs shall glow?
Thou giv'st thy people bread of tears,
And bitter tears their cup o'erflow.

Our foes deride us while we flee;
Our conqu'rors o'er their captives fight:
But turn us. Lord of hosts, to thee,
And lift thy smile, and all is light.

Thou brought'st a vine from Egypt's strand,
And drav'st afar the heathen hosts;
It hung its foliage o'er the land,
It stretch'd its roots through all our coasts.

The hills beneath its shadow rose;
Its boughs like giant cedars spread;
They spread to where Euphrates flows,
They spread to western ocean's bed.

Why mourns it now its guardless bow'rs,
Its grapes, the scornful passer's spoil?
The field's wild brood its fruit devours;
The forest boar uproots its soil.

O God of hosts, return thou yet.
And see from heav'n this wasted vine;
The root that thy right hand hath set.
The branch upheld and own'd for thine.

All burn'd or fell'd, it strews the sand;
Yet all its foes thy frown shall blast:
Oh, on the man of thy right hand,
Shew that strong hand forever fast.

So, from thy paths no more we flee:
So, give us life, to praise thy might;
And turn us, God of hosts, to thee,
And lift thy smile, and all is light.