god

v.1-8
S. M.
The church is the honor and safety of a nation.

[Great is the Lord our God,
And let his praise be great;
He makes his churches his abode,
His most delightful seat.

These temples of his grace,
How beautiful they stand!
The honors of our native place,
And bulwarks of our land.]

In Zion God is known,
A refuge in distress;
How bright has his salvation shone
Through all her palaces!

When kings against her joined,
And saw the Lord was there,

Christ ascending and reigning.

O for a shout of sacred joy
To God the sovereign King!
Let every land their tongues employ,
And hymns of triumph sing.

Jesus our God ascends on high,
His heav'nly guards around
Attend him rising through the sky,
With trumpets' joyful sound.

While angels shout and praise their King,
Let mortals learn their strains;
Let all the earth his honors sing;
O'er all the earth he reigns.

Rehearse his praise with awe profound,
Let knowledge lead the song,

God fights for his church.

Let Zion in her King rejoice;
Though tyrants rage, and kingdoms rise,
He utters his almighty voice,
The nations melt, the tumult dies.

The Lord of old for Jacob fought,
And Jacob's God is still our aid:
Behold the works his hand has wrought,
What desolations he has made!

From sea to sea, through all the shores,
He makes the noise of battle cease;
When from on high his thunder roars,
He awes the trembling world to peace.

He breaks the bow, he cuts the spear

The church's safety and triumph among national desolation.

God is the refuge of his saints,
When storms of sharp distress invade
Ere we can offer our complaints,
Behold him present with his aid.

Let mountains from their seats be hurled
Down to the deep, and buried there,
Convulsions shake the solid world,
Our faith shall never yield to fear.

Loud may the troubled ocean roar,
In sacred peace our souls abide,
While every nation, every shore,
Trembles, and dreads the swelling tide.

The glory of Christ, and power of his gospel.

Now be my heart inspired to sing
The glories of my Savior King,
Jesus the Lord; how heav'nly fair
His form! how bright his beauties are!

O'er all the sons of human race
He shines with a superior grace;
Love from his lips divinely flows,
And blessings all his state compose.

Dress thee in arms, most mighty Lord,
Gird on the terror of thy sword,
In majesty and glory ride,
With truth and meekness at thy side.

Thine anger, like a pointed dart,

The glory of Christ.

My Savior and my King,
Thy beauties are divine;
Thy lips with blessings overflow,
And every grace is thine.

Now make thy glory known,
Gird on thy dreadful sword,
And ride in majesty to spread
The conquests of thy word.

Strike through thy stubborn foes,
Or melt their hearts t' obey,
While justice, meekness, grace, and truth,
Attend thy glorious way.

Thy laws, O God, are right;
Thy throne shall ever stand;
And thy victorious gospel proves

v.1-8,8,15-26
C. M.
The church's complaint in persecution.

Lord, we have heard thy works of old,
Thy works of power and grace,
When to our ears our fathers told
The wonders of their days.

How thou didst build thy churches here,
And make thy gospel known;
Amongst them did thine arm appear,
Thy light and glory shone.

In God they boasted all the day,
And in a cheerful throng
Did thousands meet to praise and pray,
And grace was all their song.

v.1-5
C. M.
Desertion and hope; or, Complaint of absence from public worship.

With earnest longings of the mind,
My God, to thee I look;
So pants the hunted hart to find
And taste the cooling brook.

When shall I see thy courts of grace,
And meet my God again?
So long an absence from thy face
My heart endures with pain.

Temptations vex my weary soul,
And tears are my repast;
The foe insults without control,
"And where's your God at last?"

'Tis with a mournful pleasure now

v.1-8
L. M.
Charity to the poor; or, Pity to the afflicted.

Blest is the man whose bowels move,
And melt with pity to the poor;
Whose soul, by sympathizing love,
Feels what his fellow saints endure.

His heart contrives for their relief
More good than his own hands can do;
He, in the time of gen'ral grief,
Shall find the Lord has bowels too.

His soul shall live secure on earth,
With secret blessings on his head,
When drought, and pestilence, and dearth
Around him multiply their dead.

v.6-9
C. M.
The incarnation and sacrifice of Christ.

Thus saith the Lord, "Your work is vain
Give your burnt-offerings o'er;
In dying goats, and bullocks slain,
My soul delights no more."

Then spake the Savior, "Lo, I'm here,
My God, to do thy will;
Whate'er thy sacred books declare,
Thy servant shall fulfil.

"Thy law is ever in my sight,
I keep it near my heart;
Mine ears are opened with delight
To what thy lips impart."

And see, the blest Redeemer comes,