Psalm 74
The church pleading with God under sore persecutions.
Will God for ever cast us off?
His wrath for ever smoke
Against the people of his love,
His little chosen flock?
Think of the tribes so dearly bought
With their Redeemer's blood;
Nor let thy Zion be forgot,
Where once thy glory stood.
Lift up thy feet and march in haste,
Aloud our ruin calls;
See what a wide and fearful waste
Is made within thy walls.
Where once thy churches prayed and sang,
Thy foes profanely roar;
Over thy gates their ensigns hang,
Sad tokens of their power.
How are the seats of worship broke!
They tear the buildings down,
And he that deals the heaviest stroke
Procures the chief renown.
With flames they threaten to destroy
Thy children in their nest;
"Come, let us burn at once," they cry,
"The temple and the priest."
And still, to heighten our distress,
Thy presence is withdrawn;
Thy wonted signs of power and grace,
Thy power and grace are gone.
No prophet speaks to calm our woes,
But all the seers mourn;
There's not a soul amongst us knows
The time of thy return.
PAUSE.
How long, eternal God, how long
Shall men of pride blaspheme?
Shall saints be made their endless song,
And bear immortal shame?
Canst thou for ever sit and hear
Thine holy name profaned?
And still thy jealousy forbear,
And still withhold thine hand?
What strange deliv'rance hast thou shown
In ages long before!
And now no other God we own,
No other God adore.
Thou didst divide the raging sea
By thy resistless might,
To make thy tribes a wondrous way,
And then secure their flight.
Is not the world of nature thine,
The darkness and the day?
Didst thou not bid the morning shine,
And mark the sun his way?
Hath not thy power formed every coast,
And set the earth its bounds,
With summer's heat, and winter's frost,
In their perpetual rounds?
And shall the sons of earth and dust
That sacred power blaspheme?
Will not thy hand that formed them first
Avenge thine injured name?
Think oh the cov'nant thou hast made,
And all thy words of love;
Nor let the birds of prey invade,
And vex thy mourning dove.
Our foes would triumph in our blood,
And make our hope their jest;
Plead thy own cause, Almighty God,
And give thy children rest.
poem by Isaac Watts
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Related quotes
Psalm LXXIV: Will God For Ever Cast Us Off?
Will God for ever east us off?
His wrath for ever smoke
Against the people of' his love,
His little chosen flock?
Think of the tribes so dearly bought
With their Redeemer's blood;
Nor let thy Zion be forgot,
Where once thy glory stood.
Lift up thy feet and march in haste,
Aloud our ruin calls;
See what a wide and fearful waste
Is made within thy walls.
Where once thy churches prayed and sang,
Thy foes profanely roar;
Over thy gates their ensigns hang,
Sad tokens of their power.
How are the seats of worship broke!
They tear the buildings down,
And he that deals the heaviest stroke
Procures the chief renown.
With flames they threaten to destroy
Thy children in their nest;
"Come, let us burn at once," they cry,
"The temple and the priest."
And still, to heighten our distress,
Thy presence is withdrawn;
Thy wonted signs of power and grace,
Thy power and grace are gone.
No prophet speaks to calm our woes,
But all the seers mourn;
There's not a soul amongst us knows
The time of thy return.
How long, eternal God, how long
Shall men of pride blaspheme?
Shall saints be made their endless song,
And bear immortal shame?
Canst thou for ever sit and bear
Thine holy name profaned?
And still thy jealousy forbear,
And still withhold thine hand?
What strange deliv'rance hast thou shown
In ages long before !
And now no other God we own,
No other God adore.
Thou didst divide the raging sea
By thy resistless might,
To make thy tribes a wondrous way,
And then secure their flight.
Is not the world of nature thine,
The darkness and the day?
Didst thou not bid the morning shine,
And mark the sun his way?
Hath not thy power formed ev'ry coast,
And set the earth its bounds,
With summer's heat, and winter's frost,
In their perpetual rounds?
And shall the sons of earth and dust
That sacred power blaspheme?
Will not thy hand that formed them first
Avenge thine injured name?
Think on the cov'nant thou hast made,
And all thy words of love;
Nor let the birds of prey invade,
And vex thy mourning dove.
Our foes would triumph in our blood,
And make our hope their jest;
Plead thy own cause, Almighty God,
And give thy children rest.
poem by Isaac Watts
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Psalm 44
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.
But now our souls are seized with shame,
Confusion fills our face,
To hear the enemy blaspheme,
And fools reproach thy grace.
Yet have we not forgot our God,
Nor falsely dealt with heav'n,
Nor have our steps declined the road
Of duty thou hast giv'n;
Though dragons all around us roar
With their destructive breath,
And thine own hand has bruised us sore
Hard by the gates of death.
PAUSE.
We are exposed all day to die
As martyrs for thy cause,
As sheep for slaughter bound we lie
By sharp and bloody laws.
Awake, arise, Almighty Lord,
Why sleeps thy wonted grace?
Why should we look like men abhorred
Or banished from thy face?
Wilt thou for ever cast us off,
And still neglect our cries?
For ever hide thine heav'nly love
From our afflicted eyes?
Down to the dust our soul is bowed,
And dies upon the ground;
Rise for our help, rebuke the proud,
And all their powers confound.
Redeem us from perpetual shame,
Our Savior and our God;
We plead the honors of thy name,
The merits of thy blood.
poem by Isaac Watts
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Psalm 89
The covenant made with Christ; or, The true David.
For ever shall my song record
The truth and mercy of the Lord;
Mercy and truth for ever stand,
Like heav'n, established by his hand.
Thus to his Son he sware, and said,
"With thee my cov'nant first is made;
In thee shall dying sinners live,
Glory and grace are thine to give.
"Be thou my Prophet, thou my Priest;
Thy children shall be ever blest;
Thou art my chosen King: thy throne
Shall stand eternal like my own.
"There's none of all my sons above
So much my image or my love;
Celestial powers thy subjects are:
Then what can earth to thee compare?
"David, my servant, whom I chose
To guard my flock, to crush my foes,
And raised him to the Jewish throne,
Was but a shadow of my Son."
Now let the church rejoice and sing
Jesus, her Savior and her King;
Angels his heav'nly wonders show,
And saints declare his works below.
poem by Isaac Watts
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Psalm 31 part 1
v.5,13-19,22,23
C. M.
Deliverance from death.
Unto thine hand, O God of truth,
My spirit I commit;
Thou hast redeemed my soul from death,
And saved me from the pit.
The passions of my hope and fear
Maintained a doubtful strife,
While sorrow, pain, and sin conspired
To take away my life.
"My times are in thine hand," I cried,
"Though I draw near the dust;
Thou art the refuge where I hide,
The God in whom I trust.
O make thy reconciled face
Upon thy servant shine,
And save me for thy mercy's sake,
For I'm entirely thine.
PAUSE.
['Twas in my haste my spirit said,
"I must despair and die,
I am cut off before thine eyes;
But thou hast heard my cry.]
Thy goodness how divinely free!
How wondrous is thy grace
To those that fear thy majesty,
And trust thy promises!
O love the Lord, all ye his saints,
And sing his praises loud;
He'll bend his ear to your complaints,
And recompense the proud.
poem by Isaac Watts
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Psalm 80
The church's prayer under affliction; or, The vineyard of God wasted.
Great Shepherd of thine Israel,
Who didst between the cherubs dwell,
And lead the tribes, thy chosen sheep,
Safe through the desert and the deep;
Thy church is in the desert now,
Shine from on high and guide us through;
Turn us to thee, thy love restore,
We shall be saved and sigh no more.
Great God, whom heav'nly hosts obey,
How long shall we lament and pray,
And wait in vain thy kind return?
How long shall thy fierce anger burn?
Instead of wine and cheerful bread
Thy saints with their own tears are fed:
Turn us to thee, thy love restore,
We shall be saved, and sigh no more.
PAUSE I.
Hast thou not planted with thy hands
A lovely vine in heathen lands?
Did not thy power defend it round,
And heav'nly dews enrich the ground?
How did the spreading branches shoot,
And bless the nations with the fruit!
But now, dear Lord, look down and see
Thy mourning vine, that lovely tree.
Why is its beauty thus defaced?
Why hast thou laid her fences waste?
Strangers and foes against her join,
And every beast devours the vine.
Return, Almighty God, return,
Nor let thy bleeding vineyard mourn;
Turn us to thee, thy love restore,
We shall be saved, and sigh no more.
PAUSE II.
Lord, when this vine in Canaan grew,
Thou wast its strength and glory too;
Attacked in vain by all its foes,
Till the fair Branch of Promise rose:
Fair Branch, ordained of old to shoot
From David's stock, from Jacob's root;
Himself a noble vine, and we
The lesser branches of the tree.
'Tis thy own Son; and he shall stand
Girt with thy strength at thy right hand;
Thy first-born Son, adorned and blest
With power and grace above the rest.
O for his sake attend our cry,
Shine on thy churches lest they die;
Turn us to thee, thy love restore,
We shall be saved, and sigh no more.
poem by Isaac Watts
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Psalm 35 part 1
v.1-9
C. M.
Prayer and faith of persecuted saints.
Now plead my cause, Almighty God,
With all the sons of strife;
And fight against the men of blood,
Who fight against my life.
Draw out thy spear and stop their way,
Lift thine avenging rod;
But to my soul in mercy say,
"I am thy Savior God!"
They plant their snares to catch my feet,
And nets of mischief spread;
Plunge the destroyers in the pit
That their own hands have made.
Let fogs and darkness hide their way,
And slipp'ry be their ground;
Thy wrath shall make their lives a prey,
And all their rage confound.
They fly like chaff before the wind,
Before thine angry breath;
The angel of the Lord behind
Pursues them down to death.
They love the road that leads to hell;
Then let the rebels die,
Whose malice is implacable
Against the Lord on high.
But if thou hast a chosen few
Amongst that impious race,
Divide them from the bloody crew,
By thy surprising grace.
Then will I raise my tuneful voice,
To make thy wonders known;
In their salvation I'll rejoice,
And bless thee for my own.
poem by Isaac Watts
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Sonnet 139: O, call not me to justify the wrong
O, call not me to justify the wrong
That thy unkindness lays upon my heart
Wound me not with thine eye but with thy tongue;
Use power with power, and slay me not by art.
Tell me thou lov'st elsewhere, but in my sight,
Dear heart forbear to glance thine eye aside;
What need'st thou wound with cunning when thy might
Is more than my o'erpressed defence can bide?
Let me excuse thee: "Ah, my love well knows,
Her pretty looks have been mine enemies,
And therefore from my face she turns my foes,
That they elsewhere might dart their injuries."
Yet do not so; but since I am near slain,
Kill me outright with looks and rid my pain.
poem by William Shakespeare
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Psalm 94 part 1
v.1,2,7-14
C. M.
Saints chastised, and sinners destroyed; or, Instructive afflictions.
O God, to whom revenge belongs,
"Proclaim thy wrath aloud;
Let sovereign power redress our wrongs,
Let justice smite the proud.
They say, "The Lord nor sees nor hears:"
When will the fools be wise?
Can he be deaf who formed their ears?
Or blind, who made their eyes?
He knows their impious thoughts are vain,
And they shall feel his power;
His wrath shall pierce their souls with pain
In some surprising hour.
But if thy saints deserve rebuke,
Thou hast a gentler rod;
Thy providence's and thy book
Shall make them know their God.
Blest is the man thy hands chastise,
And to his duty draw;
Thy scourges make thy children wise
When they forget thy law.
But God will ne'er cast off his saints,
Nor his own promise break
He pardons his inheritance
For their Redeemer's sake.
poem by Isaac Watts
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Psalm 66 part 1
Governing power and goodness; or, Our graces tried by afflictions.
Sing, all ye nations, to the Lord,
Sing with a joyful noise;
With melody of sound record
His honors and your joys.
Say to the Power that shakes the sky,
"How terrible art thou!
Sinners before thy presence fly,
Or at thy feet they bow."
[Come, see the wonders of our God,
How glorious are his ways!
In Moses' hand he puts his rod,
And cleaves the frighted seas.
He made the ebbing channel dry,
While Isr'el passed the flood
There did the church begin their joy,
And triumph in their God.]
He rules by his resistless might:
Will rebel mortals dare
Provoke th' Eternal to the fight,
And tempt that dreadful war?
O bless our God, and never cease;
Ye saints, fulfil his praise;
He keeps our life, maintains our peace,
And guides our doubtful ways.
Lord, thou hast proved our suff'ring souls,
To make our graces shine;
So silver bears the burning coals,
The metal to refine.
Through wat'ry deeps, and fiery ways,
We march at thy command;
Led to possess the promised place
By thine unerring hand.
poem by Isaac Watts
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The Mediator
O Christ, true Son of God most high,
Thy name we praise for ever;
Whoe'er to Thee for help doth cry
Shall find Thee fail him never;
'Tis Thou wilt plead,
Thou intercede
With God, for us who need Thy prayers so sore:
Thy bitter strife
Hath wrought us life,
And Thine be thanks and praise for evermore!
To Thee the Father giveth now
All power in earth and heaven;
Sin, Satan, Death to Thee must bow,
All fetters Thou hast riven,
Bade fear to cease,
And made our peace,
That now to God we dare our hearts outpour:
Thy bitter strife
Hath wrought us life,
And Thine be thanks and praise for evermore!
Fulness of grace is in Thy Word;
The Life, the Truth, the Way
To life eternal art Thou, Lord;
To Thee alone we pray,
Who didst appear
A servant here
To bear the sin that crushed the world before:
Thy bitter strife
Hath wrought us life,
And Thine be thanks and praise for evermore!
poem by Hans Sachs
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I Said to Love.
I said to Love,
"It is not now as in old days
When men adored thee and thy ways
All else above;
Named thee the Boy, the Bright, the One
Who spread a heaven beneath the sun,"
I said to Love.
I said to him,
"We now know more of thee than then;
We were but weak in judgment when,
With hearts abrim,
We clamoured thee that thou would'st please
Inflict on us thine agonies,"
I said to him.
I said to Love,
"Thou art not young, thou art not fair,
No faery darts, no cherub air,
Nor swan, nor dove
Are thine; but features pitiless,
And iron daggers of distress,"
I said to Love.
"Depart then, Love! . . .
- Man's race shall end, dost threaten thou?
The age to come the man of now
Know nothing of? -
We fear not such a threat from thee;
We are too old in apathy!
Mankind shall cease.--So let it be,"
I said to Love.
poem by Thomas Hardy
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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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Hymn XXVI: I Thirst, Thou Wounded Lamb of God
I thirst, thou wounded Lamb of God,
To wash me in thy cleansing blood,
To dwell within thy wounds; then pain
Is sweet, and life or death is gain.
Take my poor heart, and let it be
For ever closed to all but thee!
Seal thou my breast, and let me we;
That pledge of love for ever there!
How blest are they who still abide
Close sheltered in thy bleeding side,
Who life and strength from thence derive,
And by thee move, and in thee live.
What are our works but sin and death,
Till thou thy quickening Spirit breathe!
Thou giv'st the power thy grace to move;
O wondrous grace! O boundless love!
How can it be, thou heavenly King,
That thou shouldst us to glory bring?
Make slaves the partners of thy throne,
Decked with a never-fading crown?
Hence our hearts melt, our eyes o'erflow,
Our words are lost; nor will we know,
Nor will we think of aught beside,
"My Lord, my Love is crucified."
Ah, Lord! enlarge our scanty thought,
To know the wonders thou hast wrought;
Unloose our stammering tongues, to tell
Thy love immense, unsearchable.
First-born of many brethren thou!
To thee, lo! all our souls we bow:
To thee our hearts and hands we give:
Thine may we die, thine may we live!
poem by John Wesley
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Eighteenth Sunday After Trinity
It is so--ope thine eyes, and see -
What viewest thou all around?
A desert, where iniquity
And knowledge both abound.
In the waste howling wilderness
The Church is wandering still,
Because we would not onward press
When close to Sion's hill.
Back to the world we faithless turned,
And far along the wild,
With labour lost and sorrow earned,
Our steps have been beguiled.
Yet full before us, all the while,
The shadowing pillar stays,
The living waters brightly smile,
The eternal turrets blaze,
Yet Heaven is raining angels' bread
To be our daily food,
And fresh, as when it first was shed,
Springs forth the SAVIOUR'S blood.
From every region, race, and speech,
Believing myriads throng,
Till, far as sin and sorrow reach,
Thy grace is spread along;
Till sweetest nature, brightest art,
Their votive incense bring,
And every voice and every heart
Own Thee their God and King.
All own; but few, alas! will love;
Too like the recreant band
That with Thy patient spirit strove
Upon the Red-sea strand.
O Father of long-suffering grace,
Thou who hast sworn to stay
Pleading with sinners face to face
Through all their devious way:
How shall we speak to Thee, O LORD,
Or how in silence lie?
Look on us, and we are abhorred,
Turn from us, and we die.
Thy guardian fire, Thy guiding cloud,
Still let them gild our wall,
Nor be our foes and Thine allowed
To see us faint and fall.
Too oft, within this camp of Thine,
Rebellions murmurs rise;
Sin cannot bear to see Thee shine
So awful to her eyes.
Fain would our lawless hearts escape,
And with the heathen be,
To worship every monstrous shape
In fancied darkness free.
Vain thought, that shall not be at all!
Refuse we or obey,
Our ears have heard the Almighty's call,
We cannot be as they.
We cannot hope the heathen's doom
To whom GOD'S Son is given,
Whose eyes have seen beyond the tomb,
Who have the key of Heaven.
Weak tremblers on the edge of woe,
Yet shrinking from true bliss,
Our rest must be "no rest below,"
And let our prayer be this:
"LORD, wave again Thy chastening rod,
Till every idol throne
Crumble to dust, and Thou, O GOD,
Reign in our hearts alone.
"Bring all our wandering fancies home,
For Thou hast every spell,
And 'mid the heathen where they roam,
Thou knowest, LORD, too well.
"Thou know'st our service sad and hard,
Thou know'st us fond and frail;
Win us to be loved and spared
When all the world shall fail.
"So when at last our weary days
Are well-nigh wasted here,
And we can trace Thy wondrous ways
In distance calm and clear,
"When in Thy love and Israel's sin
We read our story true,
We may not, all too late, begin
To wish our hopes were new.
"Long loved, long tried, long spared as they,
Unlike in this alone,
That, by Thy grace, our hearts shall stay
For evermore Thine own."
poem by John Keble
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Psalm 116 part 2
v.12ff
C. M.
Vows made in trouble paid in the church.
What shall I render to my God
For all his kindness shown?
My feet shall visit thine abode,
My songs address thy throne.
Among the saints that fill thine house
My off'rings shall be paid;
There shall my zeal perform the vows
My soul in anguish made.
How much is mercy thy delight,
Thou ever-blessed God!
How dear thy servants in thy sight!
How precious is their blood!
How happy all thy servants are!
How great thy grace to me!
My life, which thou hast made thy care,
Lord, I devote to thee.
Now I am thine, for ever thine,
Nor shall my purpose move
Thy hand hath loosed my bonds of pain,
And bound me with thy love.
Here in thy courts I leave my vow,
And thy rich grace record;
Witness, ye saints, who hear me now,
If I forsake the Lord.
poem by Isaac Watts
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Psalm 90 part 1
v.1-5
C. M.
Man frail, and God eternal.
Our God, our help in ages past,
Our hope for years to come,
Our shelter from the stormy blast,
And our eternal home.
Under the shadow of thy throne
Thy saints have dwelt secure;
Sufficient is thine arm alone,
And our defence is sure.
Before the hills in order stood,
Or earth received her frame,
From everlasting thou art God,
To endless years the same.
Thy word commands our flesh to dust,
"Return, ye sons of men:"
All nations rose from earth at first,
And turn to earth again.
A thousand ages in thy sight
Are like an evening gone;
Short as the watch that ends the night
Before the rising sun.
[The busy tribes of flesh and blood,
With all their lives and cares,
Are carried downwards by the flood,
And lost in following years.
Time, like an ever-rolling stream,
Bears all its sons away;
They fly, forgotten, as a dream
Dies at the op'ning day.
Like flowery fields the nations stand
Pleased with the morning light;
The flowers beneath the mower's hand
Lie with'ring ere 'tis night.]
Our God, our help in ages past,
Our hope for years to come,
Be thou our guard while troubles last,
And our eternal home.
poem by Isaac Watts
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The Rebel's Surrender To Grace (Lord, What Wilt Thou Have Me to Do?)
Lord, thou hast won, at length I yield,
My heart, by mighty grace compelled,
Surrenders all to thee;
Against thy terrors long I strove,
But who can stand against thy love?
Love conquers even me.
All that a wretch could do, I tried,
Thy patience scorned, thy pow'r defied,
And trampled on thy laws;
Scarcely thy martyrs at the stake,
Could stand more steadfast for thy sake,
Than I in Satan's cause.
But since thou hast thy love revealed,
And shown my soul a pardon sealed,
I can resist no more:
Couldst thou for such a sinner bleed?
Canst thou for such a rebel plead?
I wonder and adore!
If thou hadst bid thy thunders roll,
And lightnings flash to blast my soul,
I still had stubborn been:
But mercy has my heart subdued,
A bleeding Saviour I have viewed,
And now, I hate my sin.
Now, Lord, I would be thine alone,
Come take possession of thine own,
For thou hast set me free
Released from Satan's hard commands
See all my powers waiting stand,
To be employed by thee.
My will conformed to thine would move,
On thee my hope, desire, and love,
In fixed attention join;
My hands, my eyes, my ears, my tongue,
Have Satan's servants been too long,
But now they shall be thine.
And can I be the very same,
Who lately durst blaspheme thy name;
And on thy gospel tread?
Surely each one, who hears my case,
Will praise thee, and confess thy grace
Invincible indeed!
poem by John Newton
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Psalm 60
v.1-5,10-12
C. M.
On a day of humiliation for disappointments in war.
Lord, hast thou cast the nation off?
Must we for ever mourn?
Wilt thou indulge immortal wrath?
Shall mercy ne'er return?
The terror of one frown of thine
Melts all our strength away;
Like men that totter drunk with wine,
We tremble in dismay.
Great Britain shakes beneath thy stroke
And dreads thy threat'ning hand;
O heal the island thou hast broke,
Confirm the wav'ring land.
Lift up a banner in the field
For those that fear thy name;
Save thy beloved with thy shield,
And put our foes to shame.
Go with our armies to the fight,
Like a confed'rate God;
In vain confed'rate powers unite
Against thy lifted rod.
Our troops shall gain a wide renown
By thine assisting hand
'Tis God that treads the mighty down,
And makes the feeble stand.
poem by Isaac Watts
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Psalm 86
v.8-13
C. M.
A general song of praise to God.
Among the princes, earthly gods,
There's none hath power divine;
Nor is their nature, mighty Lord,
Nor are their works, like thine.
The nations thou hast made shall bring
Their off'rings round thy throne;
For thou alone dost wondrous things,
For thou art God alone.
Lord, I would walk with holy feet;
Teach me thine heav'nly ways,
And my poor scattered thoughts unite
In God my Father's praise.
Great is thy mercy, and my tongue
Shall those sweet wonders tell,
How by thy grace my sinking soul
Rose from the deeps of hell.
poem by Isaac Watts
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Psalm 77 part 2
Comfort derived from ancient providences.
"How awful is thy chast'ning rod!"
May thy own children say:
"The great, the wise, the dreadful God!
How holy is his way !"
I'll meditate his works of old,
The King that reigns above;
I'll hear his ancient wonders told,
And learn to trust his love.
Long did the house of Joseph lie
With Egypt's yoke oppressed;
Long he delayed to hear their cry,
or gave his people rest.
The sons of good old Jacob seemed
Abandoned to their foes;
But his almighty arm redeemed
The nation that he chose.
Isr'el, his people and his sheep,
Must follow where he calls;
He bade them venture through the deep,
And made the waves their walls.
The waters saw thee, mighty God!
The waters saw thee come;
Backward they fled, and frighted stood,
To make thine armies room.
Strange was thy journey through the sea
Thy footsteps, Lord, unknown;
Terrors attend the wondrous way
That brings thy mercies down.
[Thy voice, with terror in the sound,
Through clouds and darkness broke;
All heav'n in lightning shone around,
And earth with thunder shook.
Thine arrows through the skies were hurled;
How glorious is the Lord!
Surprise and trembling seized the world,
And his own saints adored.
He gave them water from the rock,
And safe, by Moses' hand,
Through a dry desert led his flock
Home to the promised land.]
poem by Isaac Watts
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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