Psalm 115:1. First Metre
The true God our refuge;
or, Idolatry reproved.
Not to ourselves, who are but dust,
Not to ourselves is glory due,
Eternal God, thou only just,
Thou only gracious, wise, and true.
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 serv’d so long?”
The God we serve maintains his throne
Above the clouds, beyond the skies,
Thro’ all the earth his will is done,
He knows our groans, he hears our cries.
But the vain idols they adore
Are senseless shapes of stone and wood;
At best a mass of glittering ore,
A silver saint, or golden god.
[With eyes, and ears they carve their head,
Deaf are their ears, their eyes are blind;
In vain are costly offerings made,
And vows are scatter’d in the wind.
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.]
O Israel, 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.
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.