Sing on, ye tribes, sweet peace ye may secure,
Your wants supplied from field and fountain pure;
Live, and enjoy your privilege great,
Nor ever more forget the mercy seat!
No midnight revels here your door molest,
Nor wild confusion robs you of your rest;
Here you in silence may your eyelids close,—
On downy pillows find a sweet repose!
Here broad back’d mountains raise their heads immense,
And rocky bulwarks rise for your defence,
Whose silent caves present sublimer charms,
Than the shrill trumpet, or than war’s alarms.
O happy man, who safe from winter’s frown,
Lies anchor’d in a harbour of his own;
He whose chief treasure is a humble mind,
By truth enlighten’d and by grace refined!
Who suffers not his flock to go astray,
But early learns his tribes to sing and pray;
Though he but little knows of men and things,
Yet having this he needs not envy Kings!
Bend, O ye kings! and at God’s altar bow,—
Your God hath left a brighter throne for you;
And costlier robes than yours He laid aside,
And in your stead, He suffer’d, bled, and died!
Be not deceiv’d, ye all must stoop as low
As a poor beggar, Jesu’s love to know:
The beggar, or the king, that throne to gain,
Must know what’s meant by being “born again!”
The number of the faithful, Lord, increase,
And fill their habitations with thy peace;
That all may know, e’en husband, child, and wife,
The benefits of a religious life.
O still ride on, thou mighty matchless King,
Till all thy favour feel, and praises sing;—
Thy favour, which alone true joy imparts,
Is thy law written on thy people’s hearts.
By thine omnipotence o’ercome thy foes,
And make them dread thy name, and own thy laws;
O let not sin for ever them deceive,
But spare them breath to pray, repent, and live!