IX. A Song of Praise for good Success in Honest Affairs.
1
Is not the Hand of God in this:
Is not this End divine?
Lord of Success, Thee will I Bless,
VVho on my paths doest shine.
I Reap the Fruit of Gods Design,
By Him it was foreseen.
He thought of this as well as I
Or it had never been.
2
I Blindly guess'd, but he sore knew,
I wish'd, he did Command.
Wherefore I praise his careful Eye
And his Unerring Hand.
The Bow is drawn by Feeble Armes,
Aim taken in the Dark.
A Providential Hand doth Guide
The Arrow to the mark.
3
Except the Lord the City keep,
The Watchman will be slain.
Except the Lord do Build the House,
The Builder Builds in Vain.
Buildings are Babels; Cities, Heaps;
When thou send'st Curse or Flame.
And labouring Heads that promise Fruit
Oft bring forth Wind and shame.
4
But thou hast Crown'd my actions, Lord
With good Success to day.
This Crown together with my self
At thy Blest Feet I lay.
Lord who art pleas'd to prosper Me,
To bless me in my wayes,
Prosper my weak endeavouring Heart
VVhich Aimeth at thy praise.
