Public Domain Poetry And Stories - Psal. LXXXI. by John Milton
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Psal. LXXXI.

    By John Milton



    To God our strength sing loud, and clear,
    Sing loud to God our King,
    To Jacobs God, that all may hear
    Loud acclamations ring.
    Prepare a Hymn, prepare a Song
    The Timbrel hither bring
    The cheerfull Psaltry bring along
    And Harp with pleasant string.
    Blow, as is wont, in the new Moon
    With Trumpets lofty sound,
    Th'appointed time, the day wheron
    Our solemn Feast comes round.
    This was a Statute giv'n of old
    For Israel to observe
    A Law of Jacobs God, to hold
    From whence they might not swerve.
    This he a Testimony ordain'd
    In Joseph, not to change,
    When as he pass'd through Aegypt land;
    The Tongue I heard, was strange.
    From burden, and from slavish toyle
    I set his shoulder free;
    His hands from pots, and mirie soyle
    Deliver'd were by me.
    When trouble did thee sore assaile,
    On me then didst thou call,
    And I to free thee did not faile,
    And led thee out of thrall.
    I answer'd thee in *thunder deep
    With clouds encompass'd round;
    I tri'd thee at the water steep
    Of Meriba renown'd.
    Hear O my people, heark'n well,
    I testifie to thee
    Thou antient flock of Israel,
    If thou wilt list to mee,
    Through out the land of thy abode
    No alien God shall be
    Nor shalt thou to a forein God
    In honour bend thy knee.
    I am the Lord thy God which brought
    Thee out of Aegypt land
    Ask large enough, and I, besought,
    Will grant thy full demand.
    And yet my people would not hear,
    Nor hearken to my voice;
    And Israel whom I lov'd so dear
    Mislik'd me for his choice.
    Then did I leave them to their will
    And to their wandring mind;
    Their own conceits they follow'd still
    Their own devises blind
    O that my people would be wise
    To serve me all their daies,
    And O that Israel would advise
    To walk my righteous waies.
    Then would I soon bring down their foes
    That now so proudly rise,
    And turn my hand against all those
    That are their enemies.
    Who hate the Lord should then be fain
    To bow to him and bend,
    But they, His should remain,
    Their time should have no end.
    And he would free them from the shock
    With flower of finest wheat,
    And satisfie them from the rock
    With Honey for their Meat.



Extra Info:
Nine of the Psalms done into Metre, wherein all but what is in a different Character, are the very words of the Text, translated from the Original.

* Be Sether ragnam.


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