Psalm LXV. Te decet hymnus Deus!
I
Praises for Thee in Sion, Lord, attend,
Sion, the fairest Stage in Heav'ns great road,
Whence thousand Praises daily do ascend,
And come in troops to Thy Divine Aboad;
There I my vows will pay,
And with the Convoy they find there, direct their Way.
II
O Thou, who all times do'st th' afflicted hear,
From the Worlds ends all Flesh shall come to Thee!
My sins I know may justly stop Thine ear,
And make a greater breach 'twixt Thee and me;
But purge them, Lord, and I
Shall never pray in vain, and Thou be alwayes nigh.
III
Thrice happy man, on whom Thou wilt bestow,
That Grace, which of a Slave, shall make him Thine;
Thy Friend, who in Thy House Thy love shall know,
And see Thy Glory as it there do's shine;
When He shall to thee pray,
Nor Thine own Face, nor his Prayers wilt Thou turn away.
IV
By fearfull things in Truth, Lord, answer us,
Who sav'st Thy People, and do'st take their part!
And not theirs only, but propitious
Th' Earths ends have found Thee, & their help Thou art:
The Earths ends to Thee are near,
And on rough Seas, through storms and clouds, Thou prayers dost hear.
V
God by His strength the Mountains ha's set fast;
Mountains, whose heads are rais'd above the Sky;
His Word, not their Foundations, makes them last,
Though they as low, as the World's Center lye:
Their tops no storm can shake,
Yet at His presence, like the little Hills they quake.
VI
The Sea, when up to Heav'n its billows swell,
As if it scorn'd in its old bounds to stay,
He with his girdle binds the mighty Well,
With charge the sandy Jaylor to obey;
Who, when it heaves, and roars,
Its fury checks, and makes it keep within its shores.
VII
And as tempestuous Seas His Word obey,
And at His lowder Call their voice hold still,
The People, a more troub'lous Sea than they,
In all their tumults hearken to His Will;
His Thunder makes them fear,
And those, who get most off, yet think they are too near.
VIII
From the bright East Thou mak'st Thy Sun to go,
Before him creeps in Chains the Captive night,
And in the West, when he from us draws low,
'Tis but to spread his Conquests, with his Light:
And till he comes again,
Bids the Moon fill his place, and in his stead to raign.
IX
Thou visitest the Earth, and giv'st it rain,
Of Thy rich blessing it do's freely spend;
The Earth returns its thanks to Heav'n again,
In flowers, which thither their sweet Odours send,
As Customs, which they pay
To Thy dread Throne, who dost their Mothers heat allay.
X
The Flood of God, whose Spring-head's in the clouds,
When on the weary ground it showers distills,
The softned ridge unto its furrow crowds,
And all it's clots the quick'ning moysture fills;
Thou by degrees dost bring
The Tillage on, and Harvest to succeed the Spring.
XI
Plenty with every shower from Heav'n pours down,
The Earth do's by thy constant bounty grow;
Thy goodness do's the year with blessings crown,
And all Thy steps drop fatness where they go:
They on the Deserts drop,
Whose parched Sands drink deep, of Thy o'reflowing Cup.
XII
The little Hills drink deep, and look more fair,
The Valleys pledge, till they can drink no more;
The Shepheards, and their flocks both merry are,
And all the Plains with Corn are cover'd o're:
With peace, and fruits abound,
And make the distant Mountains with their Songs resound.
