1 To GOD, our never failing Strength,
With glad Applause, loudly sing;
And jointly make a chearful Noise,
To Jacob's great and awful King.

2 Compose a lofty Hymn of Praise,
And touch your Instruments of Joy,
Let Psalteries and pleasant Harps,
With warbling Lutes, your Skill employ.

3 Let Trumpets at the great new Moon,
Their animating Voices raise,
To celebrate the joyful Time,
Th'appointed solemn Day of Praise.

4 For this a Statute was of old,
Which Jacob's GOD himself decreed,
To be with pious Care observ'd
For Times to come, by Israel's Seed.

5 This he, for a Memorial fix'd,
In Joseph, freed from Egypt's Land;
Strange Nations barb'rous Speech we heard,
A Speech we could not understand.

6 "Your bureen'd Shoulders I reliev'd,
(Thus seem'd our gracious GOD to say;)
"And by my Pow'r your servile Hands,
"Were freed from lab'ring in the Clay.

7 Your Ancestors, with Wrongs oppress'd,
For timely Help did call on me;
With Pity I their Suff'rings saw,
and from their Troubles set them free.

8 They fought for me, and from the Clouds
In awful Thunder I reply'd;
At Meribah's contentious Stream,
Their Faith and Duty both were try'd.

Part II

9 Whilst I my solemn Will declare,
Do thou my chosen People hear;
If thou, O Israel! to my Words
Wilt lend thy list'ning Ear.

10 Then shall no GOD besides myself,
Within thy Limits e'er be found,
Nor shalt thou worship any GOD
Adored by the Nations round.

11 The LORD thy GOD, am I alone,
Who brought thee out of Egypt's Land;
'Tis I that all thy just Desires
Do still supply with lib'ral Hand.

12 But they, my chosen Race, refus'd
To hearken to my gracious Voice;
Nor would rebellious Israel's Sons
Make me, with Confidence, their Choice.

13 So I provok'd, resign'd them up,
To ev'ry wicked Lust a Prey;
And in their own perverse Designs
Permitted them to go astray.

14 O that my People wisely would,
My just and mild Commandments heed;
That Israel in my righteous Ways
Would still, with pious Care, proceed.

15 Then should my heavy Judgments fall,
On all who would their Pow'r oppose;
And my avenging Hand be rais'd
To cut off all their daring Foes.

16 Their Enemies, and mine, should all,
Before my Footstool lowly bend;
But as for them, their happy State
Should stand secure, nor know an End.

17 All Parts with Plenty should abound,
With fairest Wheat the fruitful Field,
The barren clifts of craggy Rocks,
For them should richest Honey yield.