Part 48 (1/2)

As the new tune of the 50th Psalm.

Popish idolatry reproved.

A psalm for the 5th of November.

1 Not to our names, thou only Just and True, Not to our worthless names is glory due; Thy power and grace, thy truth and justice claim Immortal honours to thy sovereign Name: s.h.i.+ne thro' the earth from heaven, thy blest abode, Nor let the heathens say, ”And where's your G.o.d?”

2 Heaven is thine higher court; there stands thy throne, And thro' the lower worlds thy will is done: Our G.o.d fram'd all this earth, these heavens he spread, But fools adore the G.o.ds their hands have made: The kneeling crowd, with looks devout, behold Their silver saviours, and their saints of gold.

3 [Vain are those artful shapes of eyes and ears; The molten image neither sees nor hears: Their hands are helpless, nor their feet can move, They have no speech, nor thought, nor power, nor love; Yet sottish mortals make their long complaints To their deaf idols, and their moveless saints.

4 The rich have statues well adorn'd with gold; The poor, content with G.o.ds of coa.r.s.er mould, With tools of iron carve the senseless stock, Lopt from a tree, or broken from a rock: People and priest drive on the solemn trade, And trust the G.o.ds that saws and hammers made.]

5 Be heaven and earth amaz'd! 'Tis hard to say Which is more stupid, or their G.o.ds or they: O Israel, trust the Lord, he hears and sees, He knows thy sorrows, and restores thy peace: His wors.h.i.+p does a thousand comforts yield, He is thy help, and he thy heavenly s.h.i.+eld.

6 O Britain, trust the Lord: thy foes in vain Attempt thy ruin, and oppose his reign; Had they prevail'd, darkness had clos'd our days, And death and silence had forbid his praise; But we are sav'd, and live: let songs arise, And Britain bless the G.o.d that built the skies.

Psalm 116:1. First Part.

Recovery from sickness.

1 I love the Lord; he heard my cries, And pity'd every groan: Long as I live, when troubles rise, I'll hasten to his throne.

2 I love the Lord; he bow'd his ear, And chas'd my griefs away; O let my heart no more despair, While I have breath to pray!

3 My flesh declin'd, my spirits fell, And I drew near the dead, While inward pangs, and fears of h.e.l.l Perplex'd my wakeful head.

4 ”My G.o.d,” I cry'd ”thy servant save, ”Thou ever good and just; ”Thy power can rescue from the grave, ”Thy power is all my trust.”

5 The Lord beheld me sore distrest, He bid my pains remove: Return, my soul, to G.o.d thy rest, For thou hast known his love.

6 My G.o.d hath sav'd my soul from death, And dry'd my failing tears; Now to his praise I'll spend my breath, And my remaining years.

Psalm 116:2. 12 &c. Second Part.

Vows made in trouble paid in the church; or, Public thanks for private deliverance.

1 What shall I render to my G.o.d For all his kindness shown?

My feet shall visit thine abode, My songs address thy throne.

2 Among the saints that fill thine house, My offerings shall be paid; There shall my zeal perform the vows My soul in anguish made.

3 How much is mercy thy delight, Thou ever blessed G.o.d!

How dear thy servants in thy sight!

How precious is their blood!

4 How happy all thy servants are!

How great thy grace to me!