PSALM LXXXIX.

George Burgess

For thou hast said, \"mine oath is pass'd,
To David, to my chosen friend;
Thy throne shall stand, forever fast,
Thy kingly seed shall never end.\"

O Lord, the heav'ns thy might record;
Their holy hosts thy praises sing:
For who in heav'n is like the Lord,
Who, mid the gods, like God our King?

Thou God, before whose heav'nly state
Thy saints in sacred rev'rence bow,
Lord God of Hosts, oh, who is great,
Or who enrob'd with truth, as thou?

Thou rul'st the angry ocean's tide,
And bidd'st its swelling waves repose:
Thou tramplest down the hosts of pride,
And strew'st afar thy broken foes.

The heav'ns are thine, and thine the earth;
Thou fram'd'st the land, and thou the sea:
Thou gav'st the North and South their birth,
Tabor and Hermon shout to thee.

Thine arm has empire all its own;
High holds thy strong right hand its sway:
Justice and judgment rear thy throne,
And truth and grace prepare thy way.

How bless'd to know thy trumpet's voice,
And walk beneath thy guiding eye!
Each day in thee shall such rejoice,
And thy just pow'r shall lift them high.

For thou our beauteous strength shalt yield,
Thy love our lofty horn maintains:
The Lord is still our saving Shield;
The holy King in Israel reigns.

In visions, to thy sainted seer,
Thou spak'st of old, \"with succour crown'd,
A Hero and a Head I rear,
Amidst my lowly people found.

On David's, on my servant's brow,
By me the kingly oil is pour'd;
My hand shall ne'er his sceptre bow,
My arm shall urge his conqu'ring sword.

No foe shall hurl him from his seat,
No tyrant mock his fallen state;
His foes shall crouch beneath his feet,
And I will waste the bands of hate.

My truth and love shall guard his reign;
In my strong name his horn shall soar:
His hand shall reach the Western main,
His right the Eastern torrent's shore.

'Father and Saviour,' he shall cry,
'To thee, my Rock, in hope I cling;'
And I will give his birthright high,
My firstborn's place, o'er ev'ry king.

For him my mercy shall endure,
My cov'nant stand, and ne'er be vain;
His seed shall rise in glory sure,
His throne as heav'n's own days remain.

If yet his children's wand'ring heart
My just commandments e'er forsake,
From my unchanging paths depart,
And o'er my gracious cov'nant break;

Then, on their sins the rod shall fall,
And chast'ning stripes their soul shall grieve;
But I will ne'er my truth recall,
Nor all my ancient favour leave.

I will not break my cov'nant fast,
Nor change what once my lips have seal'd:
My oath was once to David pass'd,
And falsehood ne'er that oath shall yield;

His seed shall rise, forever sure;
His throne shall stand, while yet on high
The sun or moon rolls on secure,
With each true witness of the sky.\"

But thine anointed leav'st thou now,
And look'st in stern abhorrence down:
Thou scorn'st his cov'nant and his vow,
And fling'st to earth his kingly crown.

And thou hast broke his stately wall,
And cast his rampart to the ground;
The passing step insults its fall,
And scorn and hatred shout around.

Thou giv'st his foes the conqu'ror's pride,
Thou lift'st on high his tyrants' hand;
Thou turn'st his sword's keen edge aside,
Nor yield'st his armies strength to stand.

Thou sweep'st his glory to decay,
And heap'st his prostrate throne with dust:
Thou end'st in clouds his youthful day,
And shame envelops all his trust.

How long, O Lord, withdraws thy face?
Shall vengeance blaze, and never wane?
Oh, think how short my weary race:
Oh, wherefore mad'st thou all in vain?

Where lives the man who shall not see
The last dim hour, the closing breath?
Oh, who can hold his spirit free
From bondage in the realms of death?

Where lies thy mighty love at rest,
Thy love, of old to David sworn?
Oh, think how long thy servant's breast
His load of false reproach has borne;

Reproach from nations' impious wrath,
From hosts that me and thee abhorr'd,
And curs'd thine own anointed's path!
Yet, bless'd forever be the Lord!
Amen. Amen.