University of Virginia Library

PSALM CXLI.

To Thee I call; O haste thee near;
My voice, great God, indulgent hear;
With grateful odour to the skies
As incense let my pray'r arise,
And let my hands, uplifted high,
With full acceptance meet thine eye,
As Victims on thy altar laid,
When eve extends its deep'ning shade.
O let my mouth to guilt be barr'd,
And o'er its portal plant a guard.
Turn, turn from sin's pursuit my will,
Nor let th' artificers of ill
In Me the wish'd associate greet,
Or see me to their path my feet
Incline, and, caught in Error's snare,
Their feastful board luxurious share:
Let Virtue's Friends, severely kind,
With welcome chastisement my mind
Correct; but give not These to shed
The balm of flatt'ry o'er my head,
Lest sudden from thy wrath I feel
The stroke, that none shall know to heal.
The pray'r, that from my lips proceeds,
My just abhorrence of their deeds
Shall speak; nor Thou that pray'r despise,
But, while before their startled eyes
From rocky heights their Chiefs are thrown,
Incline their stubborn hearts to own
How sweet my words, and, taught thy fear,
The lessons of thy truth to hear.
Behold the grave's wide mouth display'd,
Our bones in heaps before it laid,
As when beneath the Woodman's stroke
From the tall Ash or spreading Oak
The branches fall, and scatter'd round
In wild disorder strew the ground.
Father of All! to Thee mine eyes
I lift; on Thee my hope relies:
Do Thou, as 'mid the toils I tread
By Men of impious heart outspread,
My danger (nor regardless,) see,
And let me, while by thy decree
Wrapt in the snare themselves I view,
With step secure my path pursue.