University of Virginia Library

O Let not Us, Thou God of Hosts,
O let not Us with frantic boasts
The glory claim; To Thee alone
Thy Truth and Grace, to Israel known,
Shall ceaseless honour yield, and raise
Each heart to Love, each tongue to Praise.
Why should the heathen tribes demand,
“Where's now the God of Israel's Land?”
In Heav'n our God has fix'd his throne,
That Lord whose Will and Act are one.
Not such the Gods whom Ye adore,
That, once a mass of shapeless ore,
Now crown'd with furtive honours stand,
The creatures of the Artist's hand;
Of sense-belying parts possess'd,
In useless imag'ry express'd;
Of mouth, but not for speech design'd;
Of ears and eyes, yet deaf and blind:
Whose nostrils, as along the fane
It breathes, the incense greets in vain;
Whose hands th' imprinted kiss ne'er feel,
While suppliant crouds before them kneel;
Whose feet have never step essay'd;
Whose throat has never sound convey'd:
Unvisited by Wisdom's ray
Their breast: nor less insensate They,
Who made their mimic forms, or, made,
With fruitless pray'r invoke their aid.
Ye happier Sons of Israel's Line,
Conducted by the Light divine,
On God your firm reliance build;
Him own your refuge, Him your shield.
Ye who from vested Aaron trace
The honours of your chosen Race,
On God your firm reliance build;
Him own your refuge, Him your shield.
Ye Souls with pure devotion warm,
Whose Lives to his Decrees conform,
On God your firm reliance build;
Him own your refuge, Him your shield.
Behold his beams around us shine:
He, Jacob, He shall bless thy Line,
You, who from vested Aaron trace
The honours of your chosen Race,
And You, with pure devotion warm,
Whose Lives to his Decrees conform,
From Him whose hand the scepter guides,
To Him who in the cot resides.
To You, to Yours, till time shall end,
His Love its blessings shall extend,
Heirs of the changeless promise giv'n
By Him who form'd the Earth and Heav'n:
That Heav'n, within whose awful bound
Himself, with brightest glory crown'd,
His Seat has rear'd; while Adam's Sons
The Earth (his Gift,) its tenants owns.

Not Those whom death has snatch'd away
The debt of hallow'd praise shall pay,
Or wake his wonders to disclose,
But silent in the dust repose:
'Tis Ours, who still those wonders view,
The grateful labour to pursue;
Nor ever shall our lips decline
To crown with hymns the Name divine.