Thy creature here before Thee stands, Yet fure those ills that wring my foul Sure Thou, Almighty, canft not act O, free my weary eyes from tears, But if I muft afflicted be, To fuit fome wise design; Then, man my foul with firm refolves THE FIRST SIX VERSES OF THE NINETIETH PSAL M, THOU, the first, the greateft friend Of all the human race! Whofe ftrong right-hand has ever been Their ftay and dwelling-place"! Before Before the mountains heav'd their heads Beneath Thy forming hand, Before this pond'rous globe itself, Arofe at Thy command; That Pow'r which rais'd and still upholds This univerfal frame, From countless, unbeginning time Was ever still the fame. Those mighty periods of years Which seem to us fo vaft, Appear no more before Thy fight Than yesterday that's paft. Thou giv'ft the word: Thy creature, Man, Again Thou fay'ft, Ye fons of men, Return ye into nought!' |