Psalm CXLVI

Ye sons of Zion, praise the Lord,
Come tune your songs in sweet accord.
Awake my soul, awake and join
The sacred hymn, in notes divine.

The praises of my God, my king,
(While I have life or breath to sing,)
Shall fill my heart, and tune my tongue,
'Till heaven improve the blissful song,

No more in princes vainly trust,
Frail sons of earth; man is but dust!
With all his pride, with all his power,
The helpless creature of an hour.

He breathes, he thinks, but ah, he dies
No more the potent, or the wise;
The scheme his morning thoughts begun,
Sinks down before the setting sun.

Happy the man, whose hopes divine
On Israel's guardian God recline!
Who can with sacred transport say,
This God is mine, my help, my stay.

Heaven, earth and sea declare his name;
He built and fill'd their spacious frame:
But o'er creation's fairest lines
His stedfast truth unchanging shines.

His justice favours those who mourn,
Beneath the proud oppressor's scorn;
The hungry poor his hand sustains,
And breaks the wretched captive's chains

To sightless eyes, long clos'd in night
His touch restores the joys of light;
Poor mourners rais'd confess his care,
He loves the humble and sincere.

If wandering strangers friendless roam,
Divine protection is their home;
The Lord relieves the widow's cares,
And dries the weeping orphan's tears.

But vengeance waits the impious race
Who hate his laws, and scorn his grace;
Their ways to sure destruction tend,
And all their hopes in ruin end.

The Lord shall reign for ever king,
And age to age his glory sing;
Thy God, O happy Zion, reigns,
Resound his praise in joyful strains,