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128
Psalm the 144th Paraphras'd.
My Soul in Raptures rise to bless the Lord,
Who taught my Hands to draw the fatal Sword;
Led by his Arm, undaunted I appear
In the first Ranks of Death, and Front of War.
He taught me first the pointed Spear to wield,
And mow the glorious Harvest of the Field.
By Him inspir'd from strength to strength I past,
Plung'd thro' the Troops, and laid the Battle waste.
Who taught my Hands to draw the fatal Sword;
Led by his Arm, undaunted I appear
In the first Ranks of Death, and Front of War.
He taught me first the pointed Spear to wield,
And mow the glorious Harvest of the Field.
By Him inspir'd from strength to strength I past,
Plung'd thro' the Troops, and laid the Battle waste.
In Him my Hopes I center and repose,
He guards my Life, and shields me from my Foes.
He held his ample Buckler o'er my Head,
And screen'd me trembling in the mighty Shade:
Against all hostile Violence and Pow'r,
He was my Sword, my Bulwark, and my Tow'r.
He o'er my People will maintain my Sway,
And teach my willing Subjects to obey.
He guards my Life, and shields me from my Foes.
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And screen'd me trembling in the mighty Shade:
Against all hostile Violence and Pow'r,
He was my Sword, my Bulwark, and my Tow'r.
He o'er my People will maintain my Sway,
And teach my willing Subjects to obey.
Lord! what is Man, of vile and humble Birth?
Sprung with his kindred Reptiles from the Earth?
That He should thus thy secret Counsels share?
Or what his Son, who challenges thy Care?
Why does thine Eye regard this Nothing, Man?
His Life a Point, his Measure but a Span?
The fancy'd Pageant of a Moment made,
Swift as a Dream, and fleeting as a Shade.
Sprung with his kindred Reptiles from the Earth?
That He should thus thy secret Counsels share?
Or what his Son, who challenges thy Care?
Why does thine Eye regard this Nothing, Man?
His Life a Point, his Measure but a Span?
The fancy'd Pageant of a Moment made,
Swift as a Dream, and fleeting as a Shade.
Come in thy Pow'r, and leave th'ethereal Plain,
And to thy harness'd Tempest give the Rein;
Yon' starry Arch shall bend beneath the Load,
So loud the Chariot, and so great the God!
Soon as his rapid Wheels Jehovah rolls,
The folding Skies shall tremble to the Poles:
Heav'n's gaudy Axle with the World shall fall,
Leap from the Center, and unhinge the Ball.
And to thy harness'd Tempest give the Rein;
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So loud the Chariot, and so great the God!
Soon as his rapid Wheels Jehovah rolls,
The folding Skies shall tremble to the Poles:
Heav'n's gaudy Axle with the World shall fall,
Leap from the Center, and unhinge the Ball.
Touch'd by thy Hands, the lab'ring Hills expire
Thick Clouds of Smoke, and Deluges of Fire;
On the tall Groves the red Destroyer preys,
And wraps th'eternal Mountains in the Blaze:
Full on my Foes may all thy Light'nings fly,
On purple Pinions thro' the gloomy Sky.
Thick Clouds of Smoke, and Deluges of Fire;
On the tall Groves the red Destroyer preys,
And wraps th'eternal Mountains in the Blaze:
Full on my Foes may all thy Light'nings fly,
On purple Pinions thro' the gloomy Sky.
Extend thy Hand, thou kind all-gracious God,
Down from the Heav'n of Heav'ns thy bright Abode,
And shield me from my Foes, whose tow'ring Pride
Low'rs like a Storm, and gathers like a Tide:
Against strange Children vindicate my Cause,
Who curse thy Name, and trample on thy Laws;
Who fear not Vengeance which they never felt,
Train'd to blaspheme, and eloquent in Guilt:
Their Hands are impious, and their Deeds profane,
They plead their boasted Innocence in vain.
Down from the Heav'n of Heav'ns thy bright Abode,
And shield me from my Foes, whose tow'ring Pride
Low'rs like a Storm, and gathers like a Tide:
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Who curse thy Name, and trample on thy Laws;
Who fear not Vengeance which they never felt,
Train'd to blaspheme, and eloquent in Guilt:
Their Hands are impious, and their Deeds profane,
They plead their boasted Innocence in vain.
Thy Name shall dwell for ever on my Tongue,
And guide the sacred Numbers of my Song;
To thee my Muse shall consecrate her Lays,
And every Note shall labour in thy Praise;
The hallow'd Theme shall teach me how to sing,
Swell on the Lyre, and tremble on the String.
And guide the sacred Numbers of my Song;
To thee my Muse shall consecrate her Lays,
And every Note shall labour in thy Praise;
The hallow'd Theme shall teach me how to sing,
Swell on the Lyre, and tremble on the String.
Oft has thy Hand from Fight the Monarch led,
When Death flew raging, and the Battle bled;
And snatch'd thy Servant in the last Despair
From all the rising Tumult of the War.
When Death flew raging, and the Battle bled;
And snatch'd thy Servant in the last Despair
From all the rising Tumult of the War.
132
Against strange Children vindicate my Cause,
Who curse thy Name, and trample on thy Laws;
That our fair Sons may smile in early Bloom,
Our Sons, the Hopes of all our Years to come:
Like Plants that nurs'd by fost'ring Show'rs arise,
And lift their spreading Honours to the Skies.
That our chaste Daughters may their Charms display,
Like the bright Pillars of our Temple, gay,
Polish'd, and tall, and smooth, and fair as they.
Who curse thy Name, and trample on thy Laws;
That our fair Sons may smile in early Bloom,
Our Sons, the Hopes of all our Years to come:
Like Plants that nurs'd by fost'ring Show'rs arise,
And lift their spreading Honours to the Skies.
That our chaste Daughters may their Charms display,
Like the bright Pillars of our Temple, gay,
Polish'd, and tall, and smooth, and fair as they.
Pile'd up with Plenty let our Barns appear,
And burst with all the Seasons of the Year;
Let pregnant Flocks in every Quarter bleat,
And drop their tender Young in every Street.
Safe from their Labours may our Oxen come,
Safe may they bring the gather'd Summer home.
Oh! may no Sighs, no Streams of Sorrow flow,
To stain our Triumphs with the Tears of Woe.
And burst with all the Seasons of the Year;
Let pregnant Flocks in every Quarter bleat,
And drop their tender Young in every Street.
Safe from their Labours may our Oxen come,
Safe may they bring the gather'd Summer home.
Oh! may no Sighs, no Streams of Sorrow flow,
To stain our Triumphs with the Tears of Woe.
133
Bless'd is the Nation, how sincerely bless'd?
Of such unbounded Happiness possess'd,
To whom Jehovah's sacred Name is known,
Who claim the God of Israel for their own.
Of such unbounded Happiness possess'd,
To whom Jehovah's sacred Name is known,
Who claim the God of Israel for their own.
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