Psalm 24

The round and many-peopled Earth,
What from her wombe extract their birth,
And whom her foodfull brest sustaines,
Are his, who high in glory raignes.
The Land in moving Seas hath plac'd,
By ever-toiling Floods imbrac'd.
Who shall upon his Mountaine rest?
Who in his Sanctuary feast?
Even he, whose hands are innocent;
His heart unsoil'd with foule intent;
Whom swoln Ambition, Avarice,
Nor tempting Pleasures can intice:
Who only their infection feares;
And never fraudulently sweares:
The Lord his Saviour him shall blesse,
And cloth him with his Righteousnesse.
Such are of Jacobs faithfull Race,
Who seeke him, and shall find his Face.
You lofty Gates, your Leaves display;
You everlasting Doores, give way;
The King of Glory coms. O sing
His Praise! Who is this glorious King?
The Lord in Strength, in Power compleat;
The Lord in battaile more then great.
You lofty Gates, your Leaves display;
You everlasting Doores give way;
The King of Glory comes. O sing
His praise! Who is this glorious King?
The Lord of Hosts, of Victory,
Is King of glory; thron'd on high.