Psalm 110

The Lord unto my Lord thus spake,
Sit at my right hand, till I make
A Foot-stoole of thy Foes.
He will thy Rod from Zion send,
Unto whose Power all powers shall bend,
That dare thy Rule oppose.

Thy People willingly shall pay
Their vowes in that triumphant Day,
With their united Powers:
Aray'd in Ephods; nor so few
As are those Pearles of morning-dew,
Which hang on Herbs and Flowers.

He swore, who never Oath did breake,
Of th'order of Melchisedek
That thou a Priest should'st raigne:
Even while the Sun disperst his Light;
While Moones should rule th'alternate Night,
Or Stars their course maintaine.

God, in that Day at thy right hand,
Their Bloud, who Tyrant-like command,
Shall in his fury spill.
He, in his Justice shall confound
The Heathen, and the purple ground
With heaps of slaughter fill.

Who over many Nations sway,
And onely their owne Wils obey,
Shall sinke beneath his rage.
Then shall this all-subduing King
With Water of the Chrystall spring
His burning thirst asswage.