CLXII. GOD's afflicted Poor trusting in his Name.

PRAISE to the Sov'reign of the Sky,
Who from his lofty Throne
Looks down on all that humble lie,
And calls such Souls his own.

The haughty Sinner he disdains,
Tho' Gems his Temples crown;
And from the Seat of Pomp and Pride
His Vengeance hurls him down.

On his afflicted pious Poor
He makes his Face to shine;
He fills their Cottages of Clay
With Lustre all divine.

Among the meanest of thy Flock
There let my Dwelling be,
Rather than under gilded Roofs,
If absent, LORD, from Thee.

Poor and afflicted tho' we are,
In thy strong Name we trust;
And bless the Hand of sov'reign Love,
Which lifts us from the Dust.