University of Virginia Library

PSALM CXL.

My impious foes, great God, repell;
Their rage by pow'r superior quell;
Who toil, on fierce contention bent,
New arts of mischief to invent;
Whet, as the Asp, their tongues, and dip
In Death's worst gall their venom'd lip.
O save me from the hand of Wrong,
And backward turn the frantic Throng,
That, pleas'd, in dire alliance meet,
And tempt to fatal lapse my feet.
The murth'rous trap, th' intwining snare,
The Sons of Violence prepare,
And guileful, onward as I tread,
Beside my path their net outspread.
Thou art my God; thine ear apply:
(Thus prostrate at thy throne I cry;)
Strength of my health, indulgent Lord,
Thy Arm unseen each adverse sword,
As o'er the field the battle burn'd,
Preventive from my head has turn'd.
O let not the remorseless Band
(Each counsel by thy prosp'ring hand
Accomplish'd, and each wish supplied,)
Their conquests, with augmented pride,
Exulting boast; but on their heads
(While round the hostile circle spreads,
Intent my guiltless Soul to slay,)
The mischief of their lips repay.
Let rushing flames their sin chastise;
Prone tow'rd the pit (no more to rise,)
Let each with fault'ring footsteps bend,
And headlong to its depths descend.
The tongue to Wisdom unsubdu'd
From bliss its Owner shall exclude;
The feet to violence inclin'd
Destruction, following fast behind,
Shall hunt, and with unwearied pace
Through sin's dark maze their path shall trace.
My heart has known thee, Lord, prepar'd
The helpless and the poor to guard,
To save them from Oppression's jaws,
And vindicate their injur'd cause.
The Souls subjected to thy fear
To Thee the thankful voice shall rear,
And, studious of thy just Command,
Within thy sight accepted stand.