A New Version of the Psalms of David :: :: University of Virginia Library

Bless'd is the Man, thy Care and Choice,
Call'd to approach thy holy Place,
And tread thy Courts, where we rejoyce,
Fill'd with thy Gifts and heav'nly Grace.

By Wonders wrought in our Defence,
Lord, thy Salvation we shall find,
Who art the Trust and Confidence
Of sever'd Isles, and Kingdoms joyn'd.

132

He girt with Pow'r, do's lift on high,
And fixes on their Base the Hills;

He bids loud Billows silent lie,
And the mad People's Uproar stills.

Remotest Realms with Terrour shake
To hear thy awful Thunder's Voice,
And see thy Fires, Thou, Lord, do'st make
The Evening and the Morn rejoyce.

Thou visitest the thirsty Ground
With Rain, God's River of the Skies,
Which cheers the Glebe, whence Fields abound
With Corn, and rip'ning Harvests rise.

Abundantly thy Dews distill
On the glad Ridges of the Land;
Thy soft'ning Show'rs the Furrows fill,
Which fruitful grow at thy Command.

Thou with thy Goodness crown'st the Year,
The Clouds, Thou tread'st on, Fatness drop;

They with their Stores the Desart cheer,
And give the Hills a joyful Crop.

The Pasture woolly Flocks adorn,
With lowing Herds the Highlands ring;
The spreading Vales are cloath'd with Corn,
And shout for Joy, and grateful sing.

Another Metre.

For Thee, of Praise the Tribute waits,
O God, on Zion's Hill;
The solemn Vow, that in my Streights
I made, I'll now fulfill.

133

O Thou on High, who hearest Pray'r
In Heav'n, thy holy Throne,
To Thee all Nations shall repair,
To make their Trouble known.

Iniquities, I must allow,
O'er me have gotten Sway;
Lord, as for our Transgressions, Thou
Wilt purge their Guilt away.

Happy the Man, who by thy Choice
Still in thy Courts may live;
We in thy Goodness will rejoyce,
Which thy blest House shall give.

By Wonders wrought in our Defence,
We thy Salvation find,
O God, who art the Confidence
Of Isles and Kingdoms joyn'd.

Girded with Pow'r He lifts on High,
And fixes fast the Hills;

He bids loud Billows silent lye,
And the mad People stills.

Remotest Realms with Terrour shake,
To hear thy Thunder's Voice,
And see thy Fires; Thou, Lord, do'st make
The Morn and Eve rejoyce.

Thou visitest the Ground with Rain,
God's River in the Skies,
Whence all the water'd Fields with Grain
Are blest, and Harvests rise.

134

Abundantly thy Dews distil
Upon the furrow'd Land;
Thy soft'ning Show'rs the Ridges fill,
Which thrive at thy Command.

Thou with thy Goodness crown'st the Year,
Thy Paths rich Fatness drop;

The Clouds, thy Walks, the Desart cheer,
And give glad Hills their Crop.

The Pasture woolly Flocks adorn,
With Herds the Highlands ring;
The spreading Vales are cloath'd with Corn,
And shout for Joy and sing.