Psalm 110

THe Lord unto my Lord thus spake,
Sit thou at my right hand:
Till I thy foes a stool shall make,
Whereon thy feet may stand.
The Lord shall out of Sion send
Thy pow'rs prevai•ing rod:
Thy rule shall in the midst extend
Of all thy foes ô God.
Thy people, when thy Gospel calls,
Shall yield unto thy pow'r:
From mornings womb thy first dew falls
In sacred beauties bow'r.
The Lord hath sworn nor will repent,
Thou art for ever call'd
A Priest with priest-hood permanent,
Melchis'dek-like enstall'd.
In day of his fierce anger then,
The Lord at thy right hand
Shall strike through Kings: and wound chief men
In many a heathen land.
Filling the places where he strook
With bodies of the dead:
And in the way drink of the brook,
And so lift up the head.