O gracious God, thy glorious name be prais'd

1 O gracious God, thy glorious name be prais'd!
'Tis thou that oft my drooping soul hast rais'd;
By thee inspir'd, what wonders I've perform'd,
What armies routed, and what rampiers storm'd?
2 That life, that health, that manly vigour's mine,
That I with bright unsullied honours shine,
That oft I've triumph'd o'er the enemy,
And rule o'er mighty realms, I owe to thee.
3 O great Creator! what is man, that thou
To him dost such continued favour shew,
Such wond'rous blessings dost for him prepare,
And constant guard'st him with paternal care?
4 What, but the empty pageant of a day,
That like a shadow, swiftly fleets away!
5 Bow down thy heav'ns, O mighty God; descend;
And let thy radiant guard their king attend;
Let at thy presence clouds of smoak arise,
From out th' astonish'd hills, and shade the skies.
6 Bid the vast aather with thy lightnings glow,
And with thy flamjng arrows strike the foe.
7 Stretch forth thy aiding hand, and, gracious, save
From the drear horrors of the threat'ning grave
Thy faithful servant; lo! with impious rage
The villain-rout against my peace engage;
8 With words of death they arm their venom'd tongues,
And fill their cruel hands with fatal wrongs.
9 In hymns of joy I then my voice will raise,
And tune my lyre, to celebrate thy praise.
10 Thou hear'st the pleading monarch in distress,
And with deliv'rance dost thy David bless;
11 Yes; with thy mighty hand propitious save
From the drear horrors of the threat'ning grave
Thy sinking servant; lo! with impious rage
The villain-rout against my peace engage;
With words of death they arm their venom'd tongues,
And fill their cruel hands with fatal wrongs.
12 In strength, in vigour, may our youth improve,
As in a fruitful soil the laurel grove;
Lovely and blooming may our maids become,
Like polish'd columns of the stately dome.
13 May our rich fields a golden plenty yield;
May with their yellow sheaves our barns be fill'd ;
And shall our flocks increase their fleecy breed,
That scarce our grassy plains their numbers feed.
14 Strong for his labour prove the sturdy steer,
While no shrill clarion strikes our hearts with fear;
While no fierce foe our peaceful cities threats,
No moaning, no complaining, fills our streets.
15 Blest are the people, who without alloy
Such sweet felicities as these enjoy!
Yes; trebly blest are they, whose God's the Lord,
The dread Supreme, by heav'n, by earth, ador'd!


Source: New Version of the Psalms of David #CXLIV