Psalm CXLIV. Benedictus Dominus Deus, &c.
I
Supream Commander of the Sacred bands,
Strength of my heart, Instructer of my hands,
Who first didst for me all the Rules of War lay down,
And made'st that Victory mine, which truly was Thine own,
My shield, my Tower, and ever Good,
The Rock, where I secure from danger stood,
Who up on high my head didst raise,
And at my feet didst for me Mighty Kings subdue,
Made'st my Own people serve anew,
Thou, who hast all these Wonders done, take all the praise!
II
Lord, what is Man, that Thou should'st mindfull be
Of one, who do's so seldom think of Thee?
Or what am I Thou on me set'st so great a price,
But little in my Own, and less in others eyes?
Frail Man, whose daies away do fly,
And like Himself are spent in Vanity;
Man, whom one scarce can give a Name,
So light the Subt'lest vapour, which the Sun exhales,
A Dream, or Shaddow turns the scales,
Man, who yet impudently to the World layes claime!
III
Lord, bow Thy Heav'n, & in bright Flames come down,
The smoaking Hills with dreadful thunder crown!
There take Thy standing, and on my Proud Enemies throw
Destroying lightnings, and make seen Thy bloody bow!
Extend Thy Arm, my Saviour be,
And from the Mighty floods deliver me!
From Strangers, who that love pretend,
Which I dare never trust, their mouths so proudly speak;
Whose right hands faith they plighted break;
And swords, which they have drawn, into their bowels send!
IV
Then will I to Thy glorious Name sing praise,
And in my Song recount of all Thy Wayes:
More tunefull Measures will invent; new strings put on,
And raise my Harp with the great Subject to Thy Throne:
For God Salvation gives to Kings,
And David out of all His troubles brings;
From strangers, who that love pretend,
Which He dares never trust, their mouths so proudly speak,
Whose right hands faith they plighted break;
And swords which they have drawn, into their hearts shall send.
V
He makes Our sons like Fruitful plants to grow,
And their increase to Him alone we owe;
Our daughters to be Corner stones, polisht, and fair,
Which different Houses joyn, and their supporters are:
From Him alone comes all Our store,
And that Our presses with new Wine run o're;
That Our full Barnes no want have known,
Our stacks no emptiness, but with those sheaves are crown'd,
With which He first did load the ground,
And now them so, that with the mighty weight they groan.
VI
He to ten thousands multiplies Our sheep,
More than our folds can pin, or pastures keep;
Our Oxen fat, and strong, not it as labour know,
But freely yield their necks to th' Service of the Plow;
Down at Our Gates no Enemie sits,
There's no Al'arm, or mourning in our streets;
Thrice happy lands which thus can say,
And undisturb'd can thus enjoy the fruits of Peace,
(If there be any lands like these)
Yet those, whose God's the Lord are happier far than They.
