Psalm 81

To God our Strength your voices raise:
In sacred numbers sing his praise.
The warbling Lute, sweet Violl bring,
And solemne Harp: loud Timbrels ring.
The new Moone seene, shrill Trumpets sound:
Your sacred Feasts with Triumph crown'd.
These Rites our God established,
When Israel He from Aegypt led:
Their necks with Yokes of bondage wrung;
Inured to an unknowne tongue.
Your burdens I have cast away,
Said he, and cleans'd your hands from clay:
Then sav'd, when in your feares you cri'd;
And from the thundring Cloud repli'd.
I tri'd you; heard your murmurings,
At Meribahs admired Springs.
You Sons of Israel, give eare;
I will instruct you, would you heare.
Beware; no foraigne gods adore;
Nor their adulterate Powers implore.
I Thee alone brought from the Land
Of Bondage, with a mighty Hand.
I know, and will supply thy need;
When naked, clothe; when hungry, feed.
Yet would not they my Counsell brooke;
But desperately their God forsooke:
Whom I unto their lusts resign'd,
And errors of their wandring Mind.
O that they had my voyce obei'd,
Nor from the paths of Vertue straid!
Then Victory their brows had crown'd:
Their slaughter'd Foes had spread the ground:
Then had I made their enemy
Submit, and at their mercy lie:
Themselves blest with eternall Peace;
Inriched with the Earths increase:
With floure of Wheat, and Honey fill'd,
From breaches of the Rocke distill'd.