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Psalm 135:3. C. M.
Praise due to God, not to idols.

Awake, ye saints; to praise your King,
Your sweetest passions raise,
Your pious pleasure, while you sing,
Increasing with the praise.

Great is the Lord; and works unknown
Are his divine employ;
But still his saints are near his throne,
His treasure and his joy.

Heaven, earth, and sea, confess his hand;
He bids the vapours rise;
Lightning and storm at his command
Sweep thro’ the sounding skies.

All power, that gods or kings have claim’d
Is found with him alone;
But heathen gods should ne’er be nam’d
Where our Jehovah’s known.

Which of the stocks or stones they trust
Can give them showers of rain?
In vain they worship glittering dust,
And pray to gold in vain.

[Their gods have tongues that cannot talk,
Such as their makers gave:
Their feet were ne’er design’d to walk,
Nor hands have power to save.

Blind are their eyes, their ears are deaf,
Nor hear when mortals pray;
Mortals, that wait for their relief,
Are blind, and deaf as they.]

O Britain, know thy living God,
Serve him with faith and fear;
He makes thy churches his abode,
And claims thine honours there.