English

PART I.

M Y Saviour! both by night and day,
To Thee I pray.
O let my cries transcend the spheres,
And pierce Thy ears!
Lest sorrow stop my fainting breath,
Now near the jaws of greedy death.

My light extinguish'd, numbered
Among the dead;
Like men in battle slain, the womb
Of earth their tomb;
Forgotten as if never known,
By Thy tempestuous wrath o'erthrown.

By Thee lodg'd in the lower deeps,

The Lord hath with His temple crown'd
Moriah, by His choice renown'd.
Not all the tents of Israel,
Or mountains which in height excell,
He so affects or celebrates
As lofty Sion's stately gates.
Jerusalem, thou throne of kings,
Of thee they utter glorious things.
Not by Judea's narrow bounds.
Prescrib'd, the land which Nile surrounds,
Great Babylon, proud Palestine,
Rich Tyre which circling seas confine,
And black-brow'd Ethiopians,
Shall yield thee citizens and sons.
All sorts of people, foreign-bred,

Part I.

M Y God, Thy suppliant hear,
Afford a gentle ear;
For I am comfortless,
And labour in distress.
My righteous soul relieve,
So ready to forgive.
Thy servant, Lord, defend,
Whose hopes on Thee depend.
Me from the grave restore,
Who daily Thee implore.
From wasting sorrow free
The heart long vow'd to Thee.
For Thou art God alone,
To tender pity prone,
Propitious unto all
Who on Thy mercy call.
O hear my fervent pray'r,
And take me to Thy care;

At length Thou hast Thy mercy shown,
Drawn from the Babylonian yoke;
Our sins remov'd which did provoke
Thy wrath; ev'n that now overblown.
Great God, our ruin'd state restore,
And let Thy anger flame no more.

O shall it like a comet reign,
Extending to the yet unborn?
Wilt Thou not quicken the forlorn,
That Thine in Thee may joy again?
O show'r Thy mercy from above,
Preserve and fix us in Thy love.

I will the voice of God attend,
Who to His people speaks of peace.

O HOW amiable are
Thy abodes, Great God of war!
How I languish through restraint,
How my longing spirits faint!
Lord, for Thee I daily cry,
In Thy absence hourly die.
Sparrows there their young ones rear,
And the summer's harbinger
By Thy altar builds her nest,
Where they take their envied rest.
O my King! O thou Most High!
Arbiter of victory!
Happy men, who spend their days
In Thy courts, there sing Thy praise.
Happy, who on Thee depend!
Thine their way, and Thou their end.

P ART I.

Lord , sit not still, as deaf unto our cries,
For lo! our enemies in tumults rise.
Ev'n those who Thy omnipotence deny,
And hate Thy Name, advance their crests on high;
Dark counsels take, and secretly contrive
Their slaughter, whom Thy mercy keeps alive.
Come, say they, let us with incessant strokes
Hew down this nation like a grove of oaks,
Till they no longer be, and Israel die
Both in his race and ruin'd memory.
They all in one confed'racy have made
A solemn league, supplied with foreign aid;

God sits upon the throne of kings,
And judges unto judgment brings.
Why then so long
Maintain you wrong,
And favour lawless things?

Defend the poor, the fatherless,
Their crying injuries redress,
And vindicate
The desolate,
Whom wicked men oppress.

For they of knowledge have no light,
Nor will to know, but walk in night.
Earth's bases fail;
No laws prevail;
Scarce one in heart upright.

Though gods and sons of the Most High,
Yet you like common men shall die,

Part I.

T O God our strength your voices raise,
In sacred numbers sing His praise.
The warbling lute, sweet viol, bring,
And solemn harp; loud timbrels ring.
The new moon seen, shrill trumpets sound,
Your sacred feasts with triumph crown'd.
These rites our God established,
When Israel He from Egypt led;
Their necks with yokes of bondage wrung,
Inured to an unknown tongue.
Your burdens I have cast away,
Said He, and cleans'd your hands from clay;

Part I.

T HOU Shepherd of Thy Israel,
That, flock-like, leadest Joseph's race,
Who 'twixt the cherubims dost dwell,
O hear! show Thy enlight'ning Face.
Exalt Thy saving pow'r before
Manasseh, Ephraim, Benjamin.
O from captivity restore,
And let Thy beams upon us shine!
Great God of battle, wilt Thou still
Be angry, and our pray'rs despise?

Part I.

T HE Gentiles waste Thy Canaan, Lord,
With fire and sword;
Thy holy temple they profane,
With slaughter stain.
Beneath her ruins Salem groans,
Now nothing but a heap of stones.

The dead no funeral pomp attends,
Nor weeping friends;
Their carcases our barbarous foes
To beasts expose;
The rav'nous wolves become their tomb,
Or else the greedy vulture's womb.

With blood of saints the streams grow red,