Psalm 75

O God we render praise to thee,
To thee we give the same:
For by thy wondrous works we see
The neerness of thy name.
When I the congregations call,
An upright Judge I'l be:
The earth's dissolv'd, the men and all,
Her pillars hold by me.
But I admonish'd them the while,
Yee wicked fools, said •,
Be not so vain, be not so vile,
Nor lift your horn so high:
Presumptuous horns do not advance,
Nor speak with haughty mouth:
Promotion doth not come by chance
From East, or West, or South.
But God is Judge, some sets he up,
Some others down doth pull:
For in Gods hand there is a cup
Of crimson wine mixt full.
He powres it out, and he will make
The wicked of the land
Wring out the very dregs, and take
And drink them at his hand.
To Jacobs God I will each day
Declare fresh songs of praise:
The wickeds horns I'l cut away,
But righteous mens I'l raise.