O SAVE me, Lord, and to my foes
Do thou in whom I trust oppose
Thy pow'r ;-and let the arm divine,
Stretch'd in my cause, bespeak me thine.
Rise, mightiest Lord, triumphant rise,
O'er each whose hand thy pow'r defies;
Ascend thy throne, great God, again,
And vindicate thy ways to meǹ.
O thou whose strictly searching eye
The heart and inmost reins can try ;
Sin's baleful growth do thou control,
And guard from ill the upright soul.
Th' impartial Judge whose eyes each day
Cast o'er the earth their strict survey:
To him my soul for help repair!
He makes the faithful heart his care.
Thy truth, O Lord, shall on my breast
In sweet remembrance stand imprest;
With grateful joy my heart inspire,
And wake, to ceaseless praise, my lyre.
O LORD, our Lord, in pow'r divine, How great is thy illustrious name! Through all the earth thy glories shine, Plac'd high above the heav'nly frame.
The lisping babes proclaim thy praise,
Ordain'd by thee thy strength to shew:
Thy arm the feeblest saint can raise,
To lay the proud oppressor low.
When to thy heavens I turn my eyes,
The work thy skilful fingers wrought;
And view the moon adorn the skies,
Or stars beyond the reach of thought:
Lord, what is man! amaz'd, I cry,
Thus notic'd with thy kindest love?
Why should his sons, but born to die,
Thy condescending visits prove?
WITH my whole heart, eternal King!
Thy works, thy wondrous works, I'll sing,
My praise shall reach the skies:
In thee, my Saviour, I'll rejoice,
Thy name in praise exalts my voice,
Redeemer, God most high!
Thine arm, on Calvary's sacred height,
Turn'd all my vanquish'd foes to flight,
They fell, and perish'd there!
Thy presence there maintain'd my cause,
While the great Judge aveng'd his laws,
His holy arm made bare!
Beneath thy stern rebuke afraid,
Through heathen lands with guilt dismay'd, The impious sinners fall:
Their idol gods with rites profane,
No more their guilty altars stain,
No more those rites recall.
I see the Lord, my Saviour, rise,
He claims his throne beyond the skies,
Eternal as his days:
For judgment he prepares his seat,
The trembling world his justice meet,
But saints enjoy his grace.
JEHOVAH reigns; your tribute bring,
Proclaim the Lord, th' eternal King:
Crown him, ye saints, with holy joy,
His arm shall all your foes destroy.
Thou, Lord, ere yet the humble mind
Had form'd to pray'r the wish design'd,
Hast heard the secret sigh arise,
While, swift to aid, thy mercy flies.
Thy spirit shall their heart prepare,
Thine ear shall listen to their pray'r :
Thou righteous Judge; Thou pow'r divine!
On thee the fatherless recline.
The Lord shall save th' afflicted breast,
His arm shall vindicate th' opprest;
Earth's mightiest tyrants feel his pow'r,
Nor sin nor satan grieve them more,
THE Lord in Heav'n his throne prepares, There all his glories shine;
Thence the whole earth his wisdom shares,
With Providence divine.
His piercing eye, with one vast view,
O'er all creation runs ;
His eye-lids search, his eyes pursue
Man's bold presumptuous sons.
Though by his hand the just are tried,
Still faithful is his love:
But sinners arm'd with pow'r and pride,
His holy hatred move.
Lo! o'er their souls the fatal snares
And sulph'rous deluge pour :
Their cup th' eternal Lord prepares,
Where endless tempests roar.
In righteousness the righteous Lord
Hath plac'd his whole delight:
And saints his mercy shall record,
In realms of endless light.
LORD, let thine arm arise to save,
See-sinking to the silent grave,
The faithful fail, the godly cease,
And none supply their vacant place.
The rest, with vanity and lies,
Their secret purposes disguise,
And, through their flatt'ring lips, impart
But half the counsel of their heart.
The flatt'ring lips, the tongue of pride,
In their vain boasts shall God deride:
"Our tongues," they cry, "control disdain;
"Who shall our free-born lips restrain?"
Now, says the Lord, my arm shall rise,
Since o'er my saints oppression lies:
Nor shall the vaunting foe defy
The poor who on my grace rely.
Then let the needy cease their fear,
Their plaintive sighs engage my ear,
My arm their freedom shall maintain,
And sin and satan boast in vain.
HOW long, thy visits, Lord, forborne,
Thy absence shall thy servant mourn ?
Wilt thou, my God, averse to grace,
In endless frowns conceal thy face?
How long, with anxious thoughts distrest,
Shall doubtful counsels vex my breast?
While griefs incessant load my heart,
And triumph to my foes impart.
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