CCCLXV. The last Words of David.

THUS hath the Son of Jesse said,
When Israel's GOD had rais'd his Head
To high Imperial Sway:
Struck with his last poetick Fire,
Zion's sweet Psalmist tun'd his Lyre
To this harmonious Lay.

Thus dictates Israel's sacred Rock:
Thus hath the GOD of Jacob spoke
By my responsive Tongue:
Behold the JUST ONE over Men
Commencing his religious Reign!
Great Subject of my Song.

So gently shines with genial Ray
Th' unclouded Lamp of rising Day,
And cheers the tender Flow'rs,
When Midnight's soft diffusive Rain
Hath bless'd the Gardens and the Plain
With kind refreshing Show'rs.

Shall not my House this Honour boast?
My Soul th' eternal Cov'nant trust,
Well-order'd still and sure?
There all my Hopes and Wishes meet;
In Death I call its Blessings sweet,
And feel its Bond secure.

The Sons of Belial shall not spring,
Who spurn at Heav'n's appointed King,
And scorn his high Command:
Tho' wide the Briars infest the Ground,
And the sharp-pointed Thorns around
Defy a tender Hand;

A dreadful Warriour shall appear
With Iron Arms, and massy Spear,
And tear them from their Place:
Touch'd with the Lightning of his Ire,
At once they kindle into Fire,
And vanish in the Blaze.