PSALM LXV.

Tate and Brady

2 O thou, who to my humble pray'r
Didst always bend thy list'ning ear,
To thee shall all mankind repair,
And at thy gracious throne appear.

3 Our sins, though numberless, in vain
To stop thy flowin mercy try;
Whilst thou o'erlook'st the guilty stain,
And washest out the crimson dye.

4. Blest is the man, who, near thee plac'd,
Within thy sacred dwelling lives;
Whilst we at humbler distance taste
The vast delights thy temple gives.

5 By wondrous acts, O God most just,
Have we thy gracious answer found;
In thee remotest nations trust,
And those whom stormy waves surround.

6, 7 God by his strength sets fast the hills,
And does his matchless pow'r engage,
With which the sea's loud waves he stills,
And angry crowds' tumultuous rage.

8 Thou, Lord, dost barb'rous lands dismay,
When they thy dreadful tokens view,
With joy they see the night and day
Each other's track by turns pursue.

9 From out thy unexhausted store
Thy rain relieves the thirsty ground;
Makes lands, that barren were before,
With corn and useful fruits abound.

10 On rising ridges down it pours,
And ev'ry furrow'd valley fills;
Thou mak'st them soft with gentle show'rs,
In which a blest increase distils.

11 Thy goodness does the circling year
With fresh returns of plenty crown;
And, where thy glorious paths appear,
Thy fruitful clouds drop fatness down.

12 They drop on barren forests, chang'd
By them to pastures fresh and green;
The hills about in order rang'd
In beauteous robes of joy are seen.

13 Large flocks with fleecy wool adorn
The cheerful downs; the vallies bring
A plenteous crop of full-ear'd corn,
And seem for joy to shout and sing.