Classic Poem

1.

Th' impending storm, my God, assuage;
High o'er the foes, that round me rage,
Exalt me, (soes, whose stubborn mind,
To wrong and violence resign'd,
Thy sacred Laws has long withstood,)
And save me from the Man of blood.

2.

Assembling crouds the deadly snare,
Without my crime, great God, prepare;
Without my crime, in sin allied,
To diff'rent paths their course divide:
O, obvious to my pray'r, arise,
Nor let their guilt escape thine eyes.

3.

Leader of Hosts, and Israel 's God!
Stretch o'er the Heathen tribes thy rod,
Nor let them vauntingly each hour
With mad presumption brave thy pow'r,
But instant from thy seat arise
The proud transgressors to chastise.

4.

When eve's dark shades o'er heav'n are hung,
See! as the Dog with fury stung,
While hideous yells their wrath betray,
From street to street they urge their way;
Swords in their lips, without a fear
Their threats they vent: for who shall hear?

5.

Thou, Lord, their menace shalt deride,
And check with just reproach their pride.
Rock of my strength! to Thee on high
My Soul shall lift the stedfast eye,
Whose aid, e'er yet invok'd, each foe
Beneath my conqu'ring feet shall throw.

6.

Let not thy wrath, O God our shield,
Their name to full excision yield,
Lest, vanish'd from th' observing eye,
Th' example of thy vengeance die;
But, arm'd with pow'r, through foreign lands
Distribute wide their vanquish'd Bands.

7.

Such vengeance from thine arm, great Sire,
Their tongues repeated crimes require,
Their thoughts, inflam'd with impious pride,
Their oaths to guile's worst ends applied,
And urge thee with impartial doom
Each bold transgressor to consume:

8.

Strike, Lord, O strike the needful blow,
And teach an erring World to know,
How vain its efforts to withstand
The force of thy resistless hand;
While Jacob 's Sons thy pow'r obey,
And Earth's wide confines own thy sway.

9.

When eve's dark shades o'er heav'n are hung,
Still, as the Dog with fury stung,
Still let them clam'ring for their prey,
From street to street pursue their way,
Insatiate; while their destin'd spoil
Elusive mocks their fruitless toil.

10.

I, Lord, secure in Thee, thy might
Will praise, and with the rising light
Thy Love, that in the dreadful day
Redeem'd me, on my harp display,
Thee own my refuge, (heav'nly King!)
And Mercy's unexhausted Spring.