Psalm 129
Persecutors punished.
Up from my youth, may Isr'el say,
Have I been nursed in tears;
My griefs were constant as the day,
And tedious as the years.
Up from my youth I bore the rage
Of all the sons of strife;
Oft they assailed my riper age,
But not destroyed my life.
Their cruel plow had torn my flesh
With furrows long and deep;
Hourly they vexed my wounds afresh,
Nor let my sorrows sleep.
The Lord grew angry on his throne,
And, with impartial eye,
Measured the mischiefs they had done,
Then let his arrows fly.
How was their insolence surprised
To hear his thunders roll!
And all the foes of Zion seized
With horror to the soul!
Thus shall the men that hate the saints
Be blasted from the sky;
Their glory fades, their courage faints
And all their projects die.
[What though they flourish tall and fair,
They have no root beneath;
Their growth shall perish in despair,
And lie despised in death.]
[So corn that on the house-top stands
No hope of harvest gives;
The reaper ne'er shall fill his hands,
Nor binder fold the sheaves.
It springs and withers on the place;
No traveller bestows
A word of blessing on the grass,
Nor minds it as he goes.]
poem by Isaac Watts
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Related quotes
Psalm 55
v.1-8,16-18,22
C. M.
Support for the afflicted and tempted soul.
O God, my refuge, hear my cries,
"Behold my flowing tears;
For earth and hell my hurt devise,
And triumph in my fears.
Their rage is leveled at my life,
My soul with guilt they load,
And fill my thoughts with inward strife,
To shake my hope in God.
With inward pain my heart-strings sound,
I groan with ev'ry breath;
Horror and fear beset me round
Amongst the shades of death.
O were I like a feathered dove,
And innocence had wings,
I'd fly, and make a long remove
From all these restless things.
Let me to some wild desert go,
And find a peaceful home;
Where storms of malice never blow,
Temptations never come.
Vain hopes, and vain inventions all
To 'scape the rage of hell!
The mighty God on whom I call,
Can save me here as well.
PAUSE.
By morning light I'll seek his face,
At noon repeat my cry;
The night shall hear me ask his grace,
Nor will he long deny.
God shall preserve my soul from fear,
Or shield me when afraid;
Ten thousand angels must appear,
If he command their aid.
I cast my burdens on the Lord,
The Lord sustains them all;
My courage rests upon his word,
That saints shall never fall.
My highest hopes shall not be vain,
My lips shall spread his praise;
While cruel and deceitful men
Scarce live out half their days.
poem by Isaac Watts
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Psalm 22 part 1
v.1-16
C. M.
The sufferings and death of Christ.
Why has my God my soul forsook,
Nor will a smile afford?
(Thus David once in anguish spoke,
And thus our dying Lord.)
Though 'tis thy chief delight to dwell
Among thy praising saints,
Yet thou canst hear a groan as well,
And pity our complaints.
Our fathers trusted in thy name,
And great deliv'rance found;
But I'm a worm, despised of men,
And trodden to the ground.
Shaking the head, they pass me by,
And laugh my soul to scorn;
"In vain he trusts in God," they cry,.
"Neglected and forlorn."
But thou art he who formed my flesh
By thine almighty word;
And since I hung upon the breast,
My hope is in the Lord.
Why will my Father hide his face,
When foes stand threat'ning round,
In the dark hour of deep distress,
And not a helper found?
PAUSE.
Behold thy darling left among
The cruel and the proud,
As bulls of Bashan, fierce and strong,
As lions roaring loud.
From earth and hell my sorrows meet
To multiply the smart;
They nail my hands, they pierce my feet,
And try to vex my heart.
Yet if thy sovereign hand let loose
The rage of earth and hell,
Why will my heav'nly Father bruise
The Son he loves so well?
My God, if possible it be,
Withhold this bitter cup
But I resign my will to thee,
And drink the sorrows up).
My heart dissolves with pangs unknown,
In groans I waste my breath;
Thy heavy hand has brought me down
Low as the dust of death.
Father, I give my spirit up,
And trust it in thy hand;
My dying flesh shall rest in hope,
And rise at thy command.
poem by Isaac Watts
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Psalm 53
v.4-6
C. M.
Victory and deliverance from persecution.
Are all the foes of Zion fools,
Who thus devour her saints?
Do they not know her Savior rules,
And pities her complaints?
They shall be seized with sad surprise;
For God's revenging arm
Scatters the bones of them that rise
To do his children harm.
In vain the sons of Satan boast
Of armies in array;
When God has first despised their host
They fall an easy prey.
O for a word from Zion's King,
Her captives to restore!
Jacob with all his tribes shall sing,
And Judah weep no more.
poem by Isaac Watts
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Psalm 132
v.5,13-18
L. M.
At the settlement of a church, or the ordination of a minister.
Where shall we go to seek and find
An habitation for our God,
A dwelling for th' Eternal Mind,
Among the sons of flesh and blood?
The God of Jacob chose the hill
Of Zion for his ancient rest;
And Zion is his dwelling still,
His church is with his presence blessed.
Here will I fix my gracious throne,
And reign for ever, saith the Lord;
Here shall my power and love be known,
And blessings shall attend my word.
Here will I meet the hungry poor,
And fill their souls with living bread;
Sinners that wait before my door
With sweet provision shall be fed.
Girded with truth, and clothed with grace,
My priests, my ministers, shall shine
Not Aaron in his costly dress
Made an appearance so divine.
The saints, unable to contain
Their inward joys, shall shout and sing;
The Son of David here shall reign,
And Zion triumph in her King.
[Jesus shall see a num'rous seed
Born here t' uphold his glorious name;
His crown shall flourish on his head,
While all his foes are clothed with shame.]
poem by Isaac Watts
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Psalm 119 part 13
Holy fear, and tenderness of conscience.
ver. 10
With my whole heart I've sought thy face:
O let me never stray
From thy commands, O God of grace,
Nor tread the sinner's way.
ver. 11
Thy word I've hid within my heart
To keep my conscience clean,
And be an everlasting guard
From every rising sin.
ver. 63,53,158
I'm a companion of the saints
Who fear and love the Lord;
My sorrows rise, my nature faints,
When men transgress thy word.
ver. 161,163
While sinners do thy gospel wrong
My spirit stands in awe;
My soul abhors a lying tongue,
But loves thy righteous law.
ver. 161,120
My heart with sacred rev'rence hears
The threat'nings of thy word;
My flesh with holy trembling fears
The judgments of the Lord.
ver. 166,174
My God, I long, I hope, I wait,
For thy salvation still;
While thy whole law is my delight,
And I obey thy will.
poem by Isaac Watts
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Psalm 76
Israel saved, and the Assyrians destroyed.
In Judah God of old was known;
His name in Isr'el great;
In Salem stood his holy throne,
And Zion was his seat.
Among the praises of his saints
His dwelling there he chose;
There he received their just complaints
Against their haughty foes.
From Zion went his dreadful word,
And broke the threat'ning spear,
The bow, the arrows, and the sword,
And crushed th' Assyrian war.
What are the earth's wide kingdoms else
But mighty hills of prey?
The hill on which Jehovah dwells
Is glorious more than they.
'Twas Zion's King that stopped the breath
Of captains and their bands;
The men of might slept fast in death,
And never found their hands.
At thy rebuke, O Jacob's God,
Both horse and chariot fell:
Who knows the terrors of thy rod?
Thy vengeance who can tell?
What power can stand before thy sight,
When once thy wrath appears?
When heav'n shines round with dreadful light,
The earth lies still and fears.
When God in his own sovereign ways
Comes down to save th' oppressed,
The wrath of man shall work his praise,
And he'll restrain the rest.
[Vow to the Lord, and tribute bring,
Ye princes, fear his frown;
His terror shakes the proudest king,
And cuts an army down.
The thunder of his sharp rebuke
Our haughty foes shall feel;
For Jacob's God hath not forsook
But dwells in Zion still.]
poem by Isaac Watts
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Psalm 36
v.5-9
L. M.
The perfections and providence of God.
High in the heav'ns, eternal God,
Thy goodness in full glory shines
Thy truth shall break through every cloud
That veils and darkens thy designs.
For ever firm thy justice stands,
As mountains their foundations keep;
Wise are the wonders of thy hands;
Thy judgments are a mighty deep.
Thy providence is kind and large,
Both man and beast thy bounty share;
The whole creation is thy charge,
But saints are thy peculiar care.
My God! how excellent thy grace,
Whence all our hope and comfort springs!
The sons of Adam in distress
Fly to the shadow of thy wings.
From the provisions of thy house
We shall be fed with sweet repast;
There mercy like a river flows,
And brings salvation to our taste.
Life, like a fountain rich and free,
Springs from the presence of the Lord;
And in thy light our souls shall see
The glories promised in thy word.
poem by Isaac Watts
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Today... 'Man of Sorrows
Who has heard and believed the prophets word?
Who has ever seen the arm of the Lord?
You were stricken and smitten of Your God
both pierced and beaten by His awful rod.
For there You were crushed for our iniquities
and carried our sorrows and infirmities.
As by Your wounds each of us were made whole
when You suffered such wrath to save our soul.
No beauty or majesty to inspire
You'd an appearance no one would desire.
There in the dry ground You established root
and grew up before us like a tender shoot.
A man of sorrows acquainted with grief
and through Your oppression found no relief.
You were despised by men and rejected
Stricken and smitten of God and afflicted.
Surely You took up our infirmities
and You were crushed for our iniquities.
As there You were pierced for our transgression
and bore out affliction and aggression.
For all of us like sheep had gone astray
each one of us had turned to our own way.
But You, Lord, Who had done no violence,
bearing all our shame in complete silence.
As a sheep before its shearers is dumb
You kept silent and to death did succumb.
By oppression and judgement taken away
Cut off from the land of the living that day
But You will see of the travail of Your soul
see the multitudes that You have made whole.
For there You had poured out Your life in death
Saving your people in Your final breath.
(see also the additional information in the Poet's notes box below)
His Youth
Dying? I am not dying. Are you mad?
You think I need to ask for heavenly grace?
\I\ think \you\ are a fiend, who would be glad
To see me struggle in death's cold embrace.
'But, man you lie! for I am strong-in truth
Stronger than I have been in years; and soon
I shall feel young again as in my youth,
My glorious youth-life's one great priceless boon.
'O youth, youth, youth! O God, that golden time,
When proud and glad I laughed the hours away.
Why, there's no sacrifice (perhaps no crime)
I'd pause at, could it make me young to-day.
'But I'm not \old\! I grew-just ill, somehow;
Grew stiff of limb, and weak, and dim of sight.
It was but sickness. I am better now,
Oh, vastly better, ever since last night.
'And I could weep warm floods of happy tears
To think my strength is coming back at last,
For I have dreamed of such an hour for years,
As I lay thinking of my glorious past.
'You shake your head? Why, man, if you were sane
I'd strike you to my feet, I would, in truth.
How dare you tell me that my hopes are vain?
How dare you say I have outlived my youth?
''In heaven I may regain it?' Oh, be still!
I want no heaven but what my glad youth gave.
Its long, bright hours, its rapture and its thrill-
O youth, youth, youth! it is my \youth\ I crave.
'There is no heaven! There's nothing but a deep
And yawning grave from which I shrink in fear.
I am not sure of even rest or sleep;
Perhaps we lie and \think\, as I have here.
'Think, think, think, think, as we lie there and rot,
And hear the young above us laugh in glee.
How dare you say I'm dying! \I am not\.
I would curse God if such a thing could be.
'Why, see me stand! why, hear this strong, full breath-
Dare you repeat that silly, base untruth?'
A cry-a fall-the silence known as death
Hushed his wild words. Well, has he found his youth?
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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In Memory of John Fairfax
Because this man fulfilled his days,
Like one who walks with steadfast gaze
Averted from forbidden ways
With lures of fair, false flowerage deep,
Behold the Lord whose throne is dim
With fires of flaming seraphim—
The Christ that suffered sent for him:
“He giveth His beloved sleep.”
Think not that souls whose deeds august
Put sin to shame and make men just
Become at last the helpless dust
That wintering winds through waste-lands sweep!
The higher life within us cries,
Like some fine spirit from the skies,
“The Father’s blessing on us lies—
‘He giveth His beloved sleep.’”
Not human sleep—the fitful rest
With evil shapes of dreams distressed,—
But perfect quiet, unexpressed
By any worldly word we keep.
The dim Hereafter framed in creeds
May not be this; but He who reads
Our lives, sets flowers on wayside weeds—
“He giveth His beloved sleep.”
Be sure this hero who has passed
The human space—the outer vast—
Who worked in harness to the last,
Doth now a hallowed harvest reap.
Love sees his grave, nor turns away—
The eyes of faith are like the day,
And grief has not a word to say—
“He giveth His beloved sleep.”
That fair, rare spirit, Honour, throws
A light, which puts to shame the rose,
Across his grave, because she knows
The son whose ashes it doth keep;
And, like far music, this is heard—
“Behold the man who never stirred,
By word of his, an angry word!—
‘He giveth His beloved sleep.’”
He earned his place. Within his hands,
The power which counsels and commands,
And shapes the social life of lands,
Became a blessing pure and deep.
Through thirty years of turbulence
Our thoughts were sweetened with a sense
Of his benignant influence—
“He giveth His beloved sleep.”
No splendid talents, which excite
Like music, songs, or floods of light,
Were his; but, rather, all those bright,
Calm qualities of soul which reap
A mute, but certain, fine respect,
Not only from a source elect,
But from the hearts of every sect—
“He giveth His beloved sleep.”
He giveth His beloved rest!
The faithful soul that onward pressed,
Unswerving, from Life’s east to west,
By paths austere and passes steep,
Is past all toil; and, over Death,
With reverent hands and prayerful breath,
I plant this flower, alive with faith—
“He giveth His beloved sleep.”
poem by Henry Kendall
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Psalm CXXXVII The Babylonian Captivity
ALONG the banks where Babel's current flows
Our captive bands in deep despondence stray'd,
While Zion's fall in sad remembrance rose,
Her friends, her children mingled with the dead.
The tuneless harp, that once with joy we strung,
When praise employ'd and mirth inspir'd the lay,
In mournful silence on the willows hung;
And growing grief prolong'd the tedious day.
The barbarous tyrants, to increase the woe,
With taunting smiles a song of Zion claim;
Bid sacred praise in strains melodious flow,
While they blaspheme the great Jehovah's name.
But how, in heathen chains and lands unknown,
Shall Israel's sons a song of Zion raise?
O hapless Salem, God's terrestrial throne,
Thou land of glory, sacred mount of praise.
If e'er my memory lose thy lovely name,
If my cold heart neglect my kindred race,
Let dire destruction seize this guilty frame;
My hand shall perish and my voice shall cease.
Yet shall the Lord, who hears when Zion calls,
O'ertake her foes with terror and dismay,
His arm avenge her desolated walls,
And raise her children to eternal day.
poem by Joel Barlow
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Psalm 149
With a song of praise in their mouth
And a heart that's full of joy
Let the people of God march into Zion
And with their prayers see their enemies destroyed
And the saints will sing a new song
When the Lord comes down to reign
Sin and death will lose its sting
Never to rise again
And they will sing and dance before the Lord
And fall down before the throne
They will rejoice in the God that gave them life
They will rejoice in God alone
And justice shall march throughout the land
And every wrong shall be made right
Gods enemies will fall, one by one
And O what a terrible sight
It's a fearful thing to come to the throne
To come to the throne all alone
To come to this place without Christ by your side
Is to come to a place where there's no place to hide
Those alone will, will stand in the light
And then depart into an endless night
Those in Christ will rejoice and say
Thank you Lord for showing the way
poem by Frank McEleny
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George L. Stearns
He has done the work of a true man,--
Crown him, honor him, love him.
Weep, over him, tears of woman,
Stoop manliest brows above him!
O dusky mothers and daughters,
Vigils of mourning keep for him!
Up in the mountains, and down by the waters,
Lift up your voices and weep for him,
For the warmest of hearts is frozen,
The freest of hands is still;
And the gap in our picked and chosen
The long years may not fill.
No duty could overtask him,
No need his will outrun;
Or ever our lips could ask him,
His hands the work had done.
He forgot his own soul for others,
Himself to his neighbor lending;
He found the Lord in his suffering brothers,
And not in the clouds descending.
So the bed was sweet to die on,
Whence he saw the doors wide swung
Against whose bolted iron
The strength of his life was flung.
And he saw ere his eye was darkened
The sheaves of the harvest-bringing,
And knew while his ear yet hearkened
The voice of the reapers singing.
Ah, well! The world is discreet;
There are plenty to pause and wait;
But here was a man who set his feet
Sometimes in advance of fate;
Plucked off the old bark when the inner
Was slow to renew it,
And put to the Lord's work the sinner
When saints failed to do it.
Never rode to the wrong's redressing
A worthier paladin.
Shall he not hear the blessing,
'Good and faithful, enter in!'
poem by John Greenleaf Whittier
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Psalm XXXVI: High in the Heav'ns
High in the heav'ns, eternal God,
Thy goodness in full glory shines;
Thy truth shall break through ev'ry cloud
That veils and darkens thy designs.
For ever firm thy justice stands,
As mountains their foundations keep;
Wise are the wonders of thy hands;
Thy judgments are a mighty deep.
Thy providence is kind and large,
Both man and beast thy bounty share;
The whole creation is thy charge,
But saints are thy peculiar care.
My God! how excellent thy grace,
Whence all our hope and comfort springs !
The sons of Adam in distress
Fly to the shadow of thy wings.
From the provisions of thy house
We shall be fed with sweet repast;
There mercy like a river flows,
And brings salvation to our taste.
Life, like a fountain rich and free,
Springs from the presence of the Lord;
And in thy light our souls shall see
The glories promised in thy word.
While men grow bold in wicked ways,
And yet a God they own,
My heart within me often says,
"Their thoughts believe there's none."
Their thoughts and ways at once declare,
Whate'er their lips profess,
God hath no wrath for them to fear,
Nor will they seek his grace.
What strange self-flatt'ry blinds their eyes!
But there's a hast'ning hour,
When they shall see with sore surprise
The terrors of thy power.
Thy justice shall maintain its throne,
Though mountains melt away;
Thy judgments are a world unknown,
A deep, unfathomed sea.
Above the heav'ns created rounds,
Thy mercies, Lord, extend;
Thy truth outlives the narrow bounds
Where time and nature end.
Safety to man thy goodness brings,
Nor overlooks the beast;
Beneath the shadow of thy wings
Thy children choose to rest.
[From thee, when creature-streams run low,
And mortal comforts die,
Perpetual springs of life shall flow,
And raise our pleasures high.
Though all created light decay,
And death close up our eyes,
Thy presence makes eternal day,
Where clouds can never rise.]
When man grows bold in sin,
My heart within me cries,
"He hath no faith of God within,
Nor fear before his eyes."
[He walks awhile concealed
In a self-flatt'ring dream,
Till his dark crimes at once revealed
Expose his hateful name.]
His heart is false and foul,
His words are smooth and fair;
Wisdom is banished from his soul,
And leaves no goodness there.
He plots upon his bed
New mischiefs to fulfil;
He sets his heart, and hand, and head,
To practice all that's ill.
But there's a dreadful God,
Though men renounce his fear;
His justice, hid behind the cloud,
Shall one great day appear.
His truth transcends the sky,
In heav'n his mercies dwell;
Deep as the sea his judgments lie,
His anger burns to hell.
How excellent his love,
Whence all our safety springs !
O never let my soul remove
From underneath his wings.
poem by Isaac Watts
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After The Thunder
An echo fades of sounds once heard
By thousands brought together for
His ringing voice, a soul that stirred
The faithful to a mighty roar.
For twenty years upon the stage
For twenty years upon the stage
The passion deep within his soul
Brought forth the anger and the rage
His vision locked upon one goal.
The promises of rock and roll could
Break the chains upon his life,
Guitar in hand he vowed he would
Be free from pain and inner strife.
He shook the rafters in the halls
And brought the faithful to their feet,
His river coursed through mighty walls
Across this land, down every street.
With flag unfurled he took the word
Across the seas to hungry youth
Who raised their hands when eer they heard
His cries for faith, and hope, and truth.
Today he stands with inner peace
A man content with home and health,
Upon his brow a jagged crease
A symbol of success and wealth.
The thunder of his younger days
Has passed, and now his words reveal
A calmer soul in many ways
Fulfilled with satisfactions real.
His arms upraised against the light
He stands alone, his eyes look toward
The ground below, a bird in flight
Still searching for his true reward.
His mission done, he finds retreat
With children and a loving wife,
His body tired from the heat
The price he pays for touring life.
But deep within the longings stir
The music runs within him still,
His passions for the times that were
Are stronger than his iron will.
And all of us who know the man
Will come together when he cries
The message we all understand
The thunder in us never dies.
song performed by by Bruce Springsteen
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The House of Life: 66. The Heart of the Night
From child to youth; from youth to arduous man;
From lethargy to fever of the heart;
From faithful life to dream-dower'd days apart;
From trust to doubt; from doubt to brink of ban;--
Thus much of change in one swift cycle ran
Till now. Alas, the soul!--how soon must she
Accept her primal immortality,--
The flesh resume its dust whence it began?
O Lord of work and peace! O Lord of life!
O Lord, the awful Lord of will! though late,
Even yet renew this soul with duteous breath:
That when the peace is garner'd in from strife,
The work retriev'd, the will regenerate,
This soul may see thy face, O Lord of death!
poem by Dante Gabriel Rossetti
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Sonnet LXVI: The Heart of the Night
From child to youth; from youth to arduous man;
From lethargy to fever of the heart;
From faithful life to dream-dowered days apart;
From trust to doubt; from doubt to brink of ban;—
Thus much of change in one swift cycle ran
Till now. Alas, the soul!—how soon must she
Accept her primal immortality,—
The flesh resume its dust whence it began?
O Lord of work and peace! O Lord of life!
O Lord, the awful Lord of will! though late,
Even yet renew this soul with duteous breath:
That when the peace is garnered in from strife,
The work retrieved, the will regenerate,
This soul may see thy face, O Lord of death!
poem by Dante Gabriel Rossetti
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The House of the Life (66): The Heart of the Night
From child to youth; from youth to arduous man;
From lethargy to fever of the heart;
From faithful life to dream-dower'd days apart;
From trust to doubt; from doubt to brink of ban;--
Thus much of change in one swift cycle ran
Till now. Alas, the soul!--how soon must she
Accept her primal immortality,--
The flesh resume its dust whence it began?
O Lord of work and peace! O Lord of life!
O Lord, the awful Lord of will! though late,
Even yet renew this soul with duteous breath:
That when the peace is garner'd in from strife,
The work retriev'd, the will regenerate,
This soul may see thy face, O Lord of death!
poem by Dante Gabriel Rossetti
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LXVI The Heart Of The Night
From child to youth; from youth to arduous man;
From lethargy to fever of the heart;
From faithful life to dream-dower'd days apart;
From trust to doubt; from doubt to brink of ban;--
Thus much of change in one swift cycle ran
Till now. Alas, the soul!--how soon must she
Accept her primal immortality,--
The flesh resume its dust whence it began?
O Lord of work and peace! O Lord of life!
O Lord, the awful Lord of will! though late,
Even yet renew this soul with duteous breath:
That when the peace is garner'd in from strife,
The work retriev'd, the will regenerate,
This soul may see thy face, O Lord of death!
poem by Dante Gabriel Rossetti
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Psalm 56
Deliverance from oppression and falsehood.
O Thou whose justice reigns on high,
And makes th' oppressor cease,
Behold how envious sinners try
To vex and break my peace.
The sons of violence and lies
Join to devour me, Lord;
But as my hourly dangers rise,
My refuge is thy word.
In God most holy, just, and true,
I have reposed my trust;
Nor will I fear what flesh can do,
The offspring of the dust.
They wrest my words to mischief still,
Charge me with unknown faults;
Mischief doth all their counsels fill,
And malice all their thoughts.
Shall they escape without thy frown?
Must their devices stand?
O cast the haughty sinner down,
And let him know thy hand.
PAUSE.
God counts the sorrows of his saints,
Their groans affect his ears;
Thou hast a book for my complaints,
A bottle for my tears.
When to thy throne I raise my cry,
The wicked fear and flee;
So swift is prayer to reach the sky,
So near is God to me.
In thee, most holy, just, and true,
I have reposed my trust;
Nor will I fear what man can do,
The offspring of the dust.
Thy solemn vows are on me, Lord,
Thou shalt receive my praise;
I'll sing, "How faithful is thy word,
How righteous all thy ways!"
Thou hast secured my soul from death,
O set thy pris'ner free!
That heart and hand, and life and breath,
May be employ'd for thee.
poem by Isaac Watts
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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