As the new tune of the 50th Psalm.
Popish idolatry reproved.
A psalm for the 5th of November.
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 honours to thy sovereign Name:
Shine thro’ the earth from heaven, thy blest abode,
Nor let the heathens say, “And where’s your God?”
Heaven is thine higher court; there stands thy throne,
And thro’ the lower worlds thy will is done:
Our God fram’d all this earth, these heavens he spread,
But fools adore the gods their hands have made:
The kneeling crowd, with looks devout, behold
Their silver saviours, and their saints of gold.
[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.
The rich have statues well adorn’d with gold;
The poor, content with gods of coarser mould,
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.]
Be heaven and earth amaz’d! ‘Tis hard to say
Which is more stupid, or their gods or they:
O Israel, 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 heavenly shield.
O Britain, trust the Lord: thy foes in vain
Attempt thy ruin, and oppose his reign;
Had they prevail’d, darkness had clos’d our days,
And death and silence had forbid his praise;
But we are sav’d, and live: let songs arise,
And Britain bless the God that built the skies.