When Swelling Foes Elated With Their Pri
When swelling foes, elated with their pride,
My ruin threatened, and my God defied,
Yet were my spirits gay; I fear’d no ill,
For well I knew, his eye wak’d o’er me still
And soon was I with his deliv’rance blest;
Me on a rock of safety soon he plac’d;
Soon from the dreary pit, the miry clay,
My feet he rescued, and prepar’d my way.
Nay more; he taught me a new song of praise,
In strains before unsung my voice to raise;
In strains so strong, so sweet, that all who hear,
In him shall place their trust, and him shall fear.
And happy he, who in the Lord shall trust,
Who braves the threat’nings of imperious dust;
Who on no false insidious scheme relies,
And scorns to turn aside to fraudful lies!
Great is the love our God to man has shewn;
Many the gracious wonders he has done;
The tongue the countless number can’t declare;
The mind their vast idea ne’er can bear.
Such condescension, say, what tongue can tell,
When thou the awful secret didst reveal;
That not in sacrifice was thy delight,
That thou the victims for our sins didst slight.
Then said I; “Lo! I come, I come, prepar’d
“To do what thou thy high will hast declar’d;
“I come, the solemn mystery to unfold,
“Which in thy sacred volumes is foretold.”
Yes, Lord, thy will I’ll joyfully obey,
Thy will, my great delight, by night, by day;
Writ on the faithful tablet of my heart,
Thy law I will perform in ev’ry part.
Constant my lips thy wond’rous justice tell,
And ‘mong the pious tribes thy truth reveal:
Thy wond’rous justice to myself alone
I’ve not confin’d–to all, to all ’tis known;
Thy wond’rous justice all enraptur’d heard,
Of guilt, of virtue, thy distinct reward.
Then let me, Lord, thy kind compassion share;
Thy goodness guard me with paternal care;
For many are the ills my soul surround;
My soul e’en her own frequent failings wound;
My countless hair in number they exceed,
And make me with severe repentance bleed.
But thou, good God, thy strong assistance give;
O haste to aid me, and to bid me live.
Let shame, let sure confusion them annoy,
Who seek my life by treach’ry to destroy;
Let dire dismay and base dishonour dwell
With those, who joy at my misfortunes feel:
Surrounded be they with distress, with fear,
Who mock thy servant, and his sufferings sneer,
But let all they, that love thy name, rejoice,
And to thy glory tune the grateful voice.
Poor tho’ I am, tho’ misery is mine,
Yet have I comfort in thy aid divine,
Thou art my trust, my great support and stay;
Haste, O my God, nor make too long delay.