Psalm 115Words: Isaac Watts A version in the metre of the 50th Psalm is below The true God our refuge; or, Idolatry reproved. 1 Not to ourselves, who are but dust, Not to ourselves is glory due, Eternal God, thou only just, Thou only gracious, wise, and true. 2 Shine forth in all thy dreadful name; Why should a heathen's haughty tongue Insult us, and, to raise our shame, Say, "Where's the God you've served so long ?" 3 The God we serve maintains his throne Above the clouds, beyond the skies; Through all the earth his will is done; He knows our groans, he hears our cries. 4 But the vain idols they adore Are senseless shapes of stone and wood; At best a mass of glitt'ring ore, A silver saint or golden god. 5 With eyes and ears they carve their head; Deaf are their ears, their eyes are blind; In vain are costly off'rings made, And vows are scattered in the wind. 6 Their feet were never made to move, Nor hands to save when mortals pray; Mortals that pay them fear or love Seem to be blind and deaf as they. 7 O Isr'el! make the Lord thy hope, Thy help, thy refuge, and thy rest; The Lord shall build thy ruins up, And bless the people and the priest. 8 The dead no more can speak thy praise, They dwell in silence and the grave; But we shall live to sing thy grace, And tell the world thy power to save. To the tune of the 50th Psalm.
1 Not to our names, thou only just and true, Not to our worthless names is glory due; Thy power and grace, thy truth and justice, claim Immortal honors to thy sov'reign name: Shine through the earth from heav'n, thy blessed abode, Nor let the heathens say, "And where's your God ?" 2 Heav'n is thine higher court, there stands thy throne, And through the lower worlds thy will is done; Our God framed all this earth, these heav'ns he spread; But fools adore the gods their hands have made: The kneeling crowd, with looks devout, behold Their silver saviors, and their saints of gold. 3 Vain are those artful shapes of eyes and ears; The molten image neither sees nor hears; Their hands are helpless, nor their feet can move, They have no speech, nor thought, nor power, nor love; Yet sottish mortals make their long complaints To their deaf idols and their moveless saints. 4 The rich have statues well adorned with gold; The poor, content with gods of coarser mold, With tools of iron carve the senseless stock, Lopt from a tree, or broken from a rock; People and priest drive on the solemn trade, And trust the gods that saws and hammers made. 5 Be heav'n and earth amazed! 'Tis hard to say Which is more stupid, or their gods or they: O Isr'el, trust the Lord; he hears and sees, He knows thy sorrows and restores thy peace; His worship does a thousand comforts yield, He is thy help, and he thy heav'nly shield. 6 O Britain, trust the Lord: thy foes in vain Attempt thy ruin, and oppose his reign; had they prevailed, darkness had closed our days, And death and silence had forbid his praise: But we are saved, and live; let songs arise, And Britain bless the God that built the skies. |
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