English

Let all in sweet accord
Clap hands, their voices raise,
In honour of the Lord;
And loudly sing His praise,
Who from above
Dire lightning flings;
The King of kings,
Of all that move.

Whole nations of our foes
Beneath our feet hath thrown,
A fair possession chose
For us that are His own;
The dignity
Of Israel
Belov'd so well
By the Most High.

In triumph God ascends,
With trumpets shrill, and shalms,
Praise Him who His defends;

God is our refuge, our strong tow'r,
Securing by His mighty pow'r,
When dangers threaten to devour.

Thus arm'd no fears shall chill our blood,
Though earth no longer steadfast stood,
And shook her hills into the flood.

Although the troubled ocean rise
In foaming billows to the skies,
And mountains shake with horrid noise.

Clear streams purl from a crystal spring,
Which gladness to God's city bring,
The mansion of th' Eternal King;
He in her centre takes His place,

With heat divine inspir'd, I sing
A panegyric to the King:
High raptures in a num'rous style
I with a ready pen compile.
Much fairer than our human race;
Whose lips like fountains flow with grace;
For this the Lord thy soul shall bless
With everlasting happiness.
Gird, O most Mighty, on Thy thigh
Thy sword of awe and majesty:
In triumph, arm'd with truth, ride on;
By clemency and justice drawn.
No mortal vigour shall withstand.
The fury of Thy dreadful Hand.
Thy piercing arrows in the kings

Lord ! We have heard our fathers tell
The wonders wrought by Thee of old,
To them by their great grandsires told,
How by Thy Hand the heathen fell;

Of fruitful Canaan dispossess'd,
And Israel planted in their room,
They perish'd by a fearful doom,
While ours in growth and strength increas'd.

Not their own swords that pleasant land
Did conquer, and their foes eject;

My God, Thy servant vindicate:
O plead my cause against their hate,
Who seek my utter spoil!
Deliver from the merciless,
Who with bold injuries oppress,
And prosper in their guile.

For of my strength Thou art the Lord,
Why like to one by Thee abhorr'd
Dost Thou my soul expose?
Why wander I in black array'd,
My body worn, my mind dismay'd,
Pursu'd by cruel foes?

Thy favour and Thy truth extend,
Let them into my soul descend,
Conducted by their light,
Conducted to Thy holy hill

Lord , as the hart, imbost with heat,
Brays after the cool rivulet,
So sighs my soul for Thee.
My soul thirsts for the Living God;
When shall I enter His abode,
And there His beauty see?

Tears are my food both night and day,
While, Where's thy God, they daily say.
My soul in plaints I shed,
When I remember, how in throngs
We fill'd Thy house with praise and songs;
How I their dances led.

My soul, why art thou so depress'd?
Why O thus troubled in my breast?

Who duly shall the poor regard,
Hath his reward;
The Lord, in time of trouble, shall
Prevent his fall;
He shall among the living rest,
And with the earth's increase be blest.

Lord, render him not up to those
Who are his foes;
When he in sorrow languisheth,
Near unto death;
Let him by Thee be comforted,
And in his sickness make his bed,

I said, O Lord, Thy mercy show,
And health bestow;
For O! my soul the loathsome stains
Of sin retains.
My foes have said, When shall he die,

For God I patiently did look;
He to my cries inclin'd His ear:
And when environed with fear,
From that abyss of horror took,
Drew from the mud, and on a rock
Establish'd, to endure the shock.

Then did into my mouth convey
Songs of His praise, unsung before.
Many shall see, with fear adore;
And, trusting in th' Almighty, say,
Who on the Lord depend are blest;
Who liars and the proud detest.

Many, and full of wonder, are
The works, O Lord, which Thou hast wrought;

I SAID , I will my ways observe,
Lest I should swerve:
With bit and reins my tongue keep in,
Too prone to sin.
Nor to their calumny reply,
Who glory in impiety.

I like a statue silent stood,
Dumb ev'n to good:
My sorrows boiling in my breast
Exil'd my rest:
But when my heart, incens'd with wrong,
Grew hot, I gave my grief a tongue.

Of those few days I have to spend,
And my last end.
Inform me, Lord, that I may so.
My frailty know.
My time is made short as a span,

Not in Thy wrath against me rise,
Nor in Thy fury, Lord, chastise:
Thy arrows wound,
Nail to the ground,
Thy Hand upon me lies.

No limb from pain and anguish free,
Because I have incensed Thee:
Nor rest can take,
My bones so ache,
Such sin abounds in me.

Like billows they my head transcend;
Beneath their heavy load I bend;
My ulcers swell,
Corrupt and smell;
Of folly the sad end.