PSALM XCIV.

George Burgess

How long shall guilt, O Lord of hosts,
How long shall guilt rejoice?
How long the wicked make their boasts,
And lift their scornful voice?

They trample down the humble race,
And slay the seed oppress'd,
The widow in her child's embrace,
The orphan, and the guest.

They mock their victims, as they bleed;
They mock their parting groans;
\"The Lord,\" they cry, \"shall never heed,
The Lord, whom Jacob owns.\"

O souls most dark! behold and fear:
How long refuse ye light?
Shall he not hear, who fram'd the ear,
Nor see, who gave us sight?

Shall not the world's high Judge chastise,
The Source of knowledge, know?
He knows the thoughts that men devise,
A vain and fleeting show.

How bless'd the man, in chast'nings bless'd,
Whom thou hast taught and tried!
In evil days, thou giv'st him rest,
Till guilt the grave shall hide.

For God will ne'er forsake his own,
Nor cast his saints away;
Till justice sit on judgment's throne,
While all the pure obey.

But when I cried, \"my footsteps fail,\"
Thy mercy made me strong;
And though a thousand griefs assail,
Thy comforts cheer my song.

Wilt thou th' unrighteous throne maintain,
That bids the lawless deed,
Against the good arrays its train,
And dooms the just to bleed?

The Lord our God, our Rock and Tow'r,
Shall all their crimes repay;
The Lord our God shall wield their pow'r,
The slayer's self to slay.