A translation of the psalms of David :: :: University of Virginia Library

In Christ, his work and word
I trust, why should ye say,
That like a tim'rous bird
My soul must wing her way,
And flee from those, whose deadly skill
At worst can but the body kill?

For, lo! the godless bend,
And expedite their bow;
At me the darts intend,
They in their quiver stow,
That they with private aim may wound
The men of upright heart and sound.

If thus the wicked spurn
At fundamental points,
The house they overturn,
And put it out of joints:
And what have pious Christians done,
That they such lawless lengths should run!

The Lord is in his church
Her pillars to sustain;
And there his cherubs perch,
And there his saints remain:
But his exalted glory dwells
Where heaven's interior convex swells.

The Lord directs his eyes
To where the poor man prays,
And to distress applies
Their charitable rays:
Our hearts his eyelids, as they move,
With infinite discernment prove.

The God of truth allows
The righteous man's pretence,
And ratifies his vows;
But every slave of sense
That on his holy spirit wars,
His perfect excellence abhors.

Yet tempest, fire and snares,
And brimstone of the lake,
Which vengeance still prepares,
And wrath and terror make,
He shall from penitents avert,
Thro' Christ his infinite desert.

For God, which is the light
And rectitude, receives
The man that acts aright,
And lives, as he believes;
The fair and equal he respects,
And with his countenance protects.