PSALM XLII.

AS pants the hart for cooling streams
When heated in the chase;
So longs my soul, O God, for Thee,
And Thy refreshing grace.

For Thee, my God, the living God,
My thirsty soul doth pine;

O when shall I behold Thy face,
Thy Majesty divine!

Why restless, why cast down my soul?

Trust God, who will employ

His aid for thee, and change these sighs To thankful hymns of joy.

Why restless, why cast down my soul?
Hope still and thou shalt sing
The praise of Him who is thy God,
Thy health's eternal spring.

PSALM XLIII.

JUST Judge of heav'n against my foes,
Do Thou assert my injured right;
O set me free, my God, from those,
That in deceit and wrong delight.

Since Thou art still my only stay,
Why leav'st Thou me in deep distress?
Why go I mourning all the day;
While me insulting foes oppress ?

Let me with light and truth be bless'd, Be these my guides, and lead the way, Till on thy holy hill I rest,

And in Thy sacred temple pray.

Then will I there fresh altars raise,
To God who is my only joy ;

And well tun'd harps with songs of praise,
Shall all my grateful hours employ.

D

PSALM XLVII.

O ALL ye people clap your hands,
And with triumphant voices sing;
No force the mighty power withstands,
Of God, the universal king.

He shall opposing nations quell,
And with success our battles fight;
Shall fix the place where we must dwell,
The pride of Jacob, his delight.

God is gone up, our Lord and King,
With shouts of joy, and trumpets' sound;
To Him repeated praises sing,

And let the cheerful song rebound.

Your utmost skill in praise be shewn,
For Him who all the world commands;
Who sits upon His righteous throne,

And spreads His sway o'er heathen lands.

PSALM XLVIII.

THE Lord, the only God, is great,
And greatly to be prais'd;
In Sion, on whose happy mount,
His sacred throne is rais'd.

According to His sov'reign name, His praise through earth extends; His pow'rful arm, as justice guides, Chastises or defends.

Let Sion's mount with joy resound,
Her daughters all be taught,
In songs His judgments to extol,
Who our deliv'rance wrought.

This God is ours, and will be ours,
Whilst we in Him confide;

Who as he has preserv'd us now,
Till death will be our guide.

PSALM XLIX.-O. V.

IF mortal man grow rich and great,
Yet envy not his store;
Nor fearful be, although his state,
Increaseth more and more.

For when he dies, of all these things
He nothing shall receive;

His glory will not follow him,
His pomp will take its leave.

The lordly port of wicked men, Shall fade, and quite decay; When from their house into the pit, In woe they pass away.

But God will all the just preserve, From death and future pain; Because He will, of His good grace, Their souls receive again.