University of Virginia Library

PSALM CIV.

Bless thou the Lord, my Soul! O Pow'r divine!
My Sov'reign Dread! what Majesty is thine!
With Honor and imperial Greatness drest,
And purest Rays compose thy lucid Vest.
Heav'n, like a Veil, his secret seat enfolds,
The liquid Chrystalline it's Beams upholds.
Upon the Chariot of the Clouds he sails,
And treads the Pennons of the soaring Gales.
In Rays of Æther and celestial Fire,
He cloaths his Ministers and Angel Choir.
He fix'd the Earth as on a solid Base,
Self-pois'd to rest; nor ever change it's Place.
Thou erst o'erspreadst it with the brooding Deep,
As with a Robe; above the Mountain-steep
The Billows roll'd: But at thy Check they fly;
And when thy Thunder rattles thro' the Sky.
Precipitate their headlong Flight. They now
Climb the steep Summit of the Mountain's Brow:
Now thro' the Dales with prone Descent they pour;
To seek the Place where thou hadst form'd before
The mighty Basin for their confluent Store.
With Barriers fix'd their Rage thou dost restrain:
Not to be pass'd to drown the Land again.
He thro' the Vallies sends the streaming Rills,
Whose bubbling Fountains Ooze among the Hills.
Beasts of the Field upon the Margin meet,
With cooling Draughts to quench their inward Heat;
The savage Ass his fiery Thirst allays:
Above, the vocal Birds, among the Sprays,
Tune their wild Notes. From his celestial Bow'rs,
He on the Hills the genial Moisture show'rs.
So with thy Bounty fill'd, does Earth produce
Grass for the Herds, and Plants for human Use:
So hast thou caus'd the fertile Globe to bear,
The gen'rous Grape, the Heart of Man to chear;
To glad his Countenance the fragrant Oil,
And Bread, Support of necessary Toil,
The sacred Trees with vital Sap are fed;
The Cedars, planted by the Lord, to spread
O'er Lebanon the Umbrage of their Head.
Upon their Summit next the chirping Choir:
And Storks upon the Pine's aerial Spite.
The Mountain-Goats o'er Precipices bound;
A safe Retirement from the Hunter found:
And deep the Conies hide in rocky Ground.
He set the silver Moon, with various Face,
To mark th' alternate Stages of her Race:
He taught the Sun, at Close of Day, to sink
Beneath the blue Horizon's doubtful Brink.
Thou call'st for Darkness; then the Shades arise,
And Night regains the Empire of the Skies:
Then, in the friendly Shelter of the Gloom,
Rouz'd from their Laires, the shaggy Sylvans roam;
The Lyon's Whelps in search of Quarry roar,
Yet they from God their Sustenance implore.
No sooner o'er the Earth the ruddy Sun
Exalts his Orb, but all away they run,
Till in their hollow Dens, obscure and deep,
On a promiscuous Heap they couch to sleep.
But, with the Day, to Man returns again
His constant Portion of appointed Pain
And destin'd Labour; till the Ev'ning's Close
Refresh his weary Limbs with due Repose.
O Lord! how num'rous for our Wonder call
Thy Operations, form'd in Wisdom all!
Thy Wealth diffus'd o'er this terrestrial Ball!
Nor o'er the Earth alone, the spacious Main
Partakes; whose vast extended Tracts contain
A Race transcending Number: Part a Fry
Scarce worth a Name, or obvious to the Eye;
Part of enormous Bulk. There o'er the Tide
To distant Ports adventrous Vessels ride.
There the Leviathan thy Pleasure forms,
To dance upon the Waves, and sport in Storms.
All these, thy Creatures, thee alone await,
Of thee, in Season, to receive their Meat:
By thee dispens'd they gather up their Food,
All from thy lib'ral Hand suffic'd with Good.
Thy Face averted, destitute they mourn:
Their Breath by thee recall'd, they dye, they turn,
Again to native Dust—
Thy Spirit issuing forth, with second Birth,
A new Creation shall adorn the Earth.
The Glory of the Lord for ever lasts:
And in his Works sincere Delight he tastes.
Earth he beholds; it trembles on it's Poles:
The Hills he touches, and above them rolls
Involving Smoak. While the congenial Flame
Of vital Spirit animates my Frame,
I to the Lord will consecrate my Lays:
While I exist my God I mean to praise,
In Thoughts of him to Ecstasy resign'd,
So shall the Deity rejoice my Mind.
O! may the Guilty from the World decay!
O! may the Impious ever waste away!
Bless thou the Lord, my Soul! and yet again
With Alleluias end the sacred Strain.