University of Virginia Library

PSALM XXXV.

Lord, make my quarrel thine; my foes
Let thy resistless pow'r oppose;
Arise thy speediest help to yield,
And reach the corslet, reach the shield,
Grasp in thy hand the glitt'ring lance,
And obvious in the breach advance;
Say to my troubled Soul; “In Me
“Thy strength and sure salvation see.”
Let shame their glowing cheeks o'erspread,
Whose ceaseless threats excite my dread,
And let them, struck with wild affright,
Inglorious backward urge their flight,
Dispers'd, as chaff before the wind,
Thy Angel pressing close behind,
Along the dark and slipp'ry way,
Whose paths their stagg'ring steps betray,
And from the arm ethereal find
The vengeance to their guilt assign'd.
Thou seest them, Lord, with causeless hate,
Beside my path insidious wait,
With causeless hate the pit prepare,
And plant before my steps their snare.
O let destruction's sudden stroke,
While thus thy justice they provoke,
Descend, vindictive, on their head;
Fast in the net for Me outspread
Involv'd, let each repentant groan,
And reap the mischiefs he has sown.
But Thou, my Soul, with awful joy
On God thy stedfast thought employ,
And, his Salvation taught to prove,
Record the wonders of his Love.
Each bone whose strength supports my frame
With grateful transport shall exclaim,
Lord! Whom like Thee shall Mortals find,
For ever just, for ever kind,
Like Thee prepar'd th' afflicted poor
From lawless insult to secure,
And back their yielded life demand
From stern Oppression's iron hand?
Thus poor and thus oppress'd with wrong
Awhile was I: a hostile Throng
Against me urg'd, to falsehood prone,
The guilt my breast had never known,
And left me helpless and forlorn
The friendship ill repay'd to mourn,
That, when Affliction's weight they bare,
Had taught my heart their woes to share:
While sickness wrapt them in its chain,
And fix'd them on the bed of pain,
I knew their suff'rings to bewail,
And sunk with grief, with fasting pale,
To God, in sorrow's garb array'd,
With humblest intercession pray'd,
And find the pray'r their pride has spurn'd
With blessings on my head return'd:
Nor Friend for Friend sincerer woes,
Nor Brother for a Brother, knows;
Nor feels the Son his melting breast
With deeper sense of grief impress'd,
That grasps a dying Mother's hand,
And waits to take her last command,
Or o'er her loss in secret pines,
And wraps the sackcloth round his loyns.
Not such the pity shown to Me:
Ev'n abjects my abjection see
With scornful gaze, as round me stand,
In adverse league, a lawless Band,
These taught with well-dissembled art
To veil the purpose of their heart,
While Those in open hate engage,
And ceaseless vent their murth'rous rage,
Now furious grind their teeth, and now
Insulting aim the deathful blow.
How long wilt Thou, my God, how long
With patient eye behold my wrong?
How long shall I in vain attend
Till Thou, my Guardian and my Friend,
The Lion's dreaded rage controul,
And rescue my deserted soul,
That, 'mid th' assembled Tribes, my tongue
May raise to Thee the thankful song?
O let not my uninjur'd foes
With speaking eye, amidst my woes,
As round they stand in close array,
The triumphs of their heart betray.
Behold them, Lord, their arts address,
The friends of peace and truth t'oppress,
But chief my name with insults load:
“Thou wretch abandon'd of thy God,
“In vain, they clamour, what our eyes
“Attest, thy conscious tongue denies.”
My God, (for Thou their rage hast seen,)
With timeliest succour intervene,
Nor silent long, Almighty Sire,
Remain, nor distant far retire.
Awake, thy aiding strength excite,
Awake, and vindicate my right.
Let Justice teach them, by thy stroke,
Their frantic triumphs to revoke;
Nor let their heart, its wish complete,
With secret joy transported beat,
Or boasting hail th' expected hour,
That gives me to the Murth'rer's pow'r.
Let All who make my grief their scorn
Their blasted hopes astonish'd mourn;
Let stern rebuke and foul disgrace
With shame perpetual clothe their face,
As, nigh me rang'd, with thankful voice
The friends of innocence rejoice,
And “Blest, they cry, be Jacob's Lord,
“The God by Heav'n and Earth ador'd,
“Who joys his Servant's cause to plead,
“And crowns with peace his favour'd head.”
While, loudest in the choir, my tongue
To notes of praise shall tune its song,
And pleas'd through each revolving day
Thy Justice, mightiest Lord, display.