O come with me, O come, and view
The trophies of Jehovah's hand!
What wrecks from him our foes pursue!
How clearly he hath purged our land!
By him wars silent stand:
He brake the archer's bow,
Made chariot's wheel a fiery brand,
And spear to shivers go.
Be still, saith he; know, God am I;
Know I will be with conquest crowned
Above all nations--raised high,
High raised above this earthly round.
To strength and keep us sound,
The God of armies arms;
Our rock on Jacob's God we found,
Above the reach of harms.
"The God of armies arms" is a grand line.
Now let us have a hymn of Nature--a far finer, I think, than either of
the preceding: _Praise waiteth for thee._
PSALM LXV.
Sion it is where thou art praised,
Sion, O God, where vows they pay thee:
There all men's prayers to thee raised,
Return possessed of what they pray thee.
There thou my sins, prevailing to my shame,
Dost turn to smoke of sacrificing flame.
Oh! he of bliss is not deceived, _disappointed._
Whom chosen thou unto thee takest;
And whom into thy court received,
Thou of thy checkrole[65] number makest:
The dainty viands of thy sacred store
Shall feed him so he shall not hunger more.
From thence it is thy threat'ning thunder--
Lest we by wrong should be disgraced--
Doth strike our foes with fear and wonder,
O thou on whom their hopes are placed,
Whom either earth doth stedfastly sustain,
Or cradle rocks the restless wavy plain.
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