PSALM CIV.
1Bleſs God, my ſoul; thou, Lord alone,
Poſſeſſeſt empire without bounds:
With honour thou art crown’d, thy throne
Eternal Majeſty ſurrounds.
With light thou doſt thy ſelf enrobe,2
And glory for a garment take;
Heav’ns curtain ſtretch’d beyond the globe,
The canopy of ſtate to make.
God builds on liquid air, and forms3
His palace-chambers in the ſkies:
The clouds his chariots are, and ſtorms
The ſwift-wing’d ſteeds with which he flies.
As bright as flame, as ſwift as wind4
His miniſters Heav’n’s palace fill;
To have their ſundry taſks aſſign’d,
All proud to ſerve their Sovereign’s will.
Earth on her center fix’d he ſet,5, 6
Her face with waters over ſpread;
Not proudeſt mountains dar’d as yet
To lift above the waves their head!
But when thy awful face appeared,7
Th’ inſulting waves diſpers’d; they fled
When once thy thunder’s voice they heard,
And by their haſte confeſs’d their dread.
Thence up by ſecret tracts they creep,8
And guſhing from the mountain’s ſide,
Thro’ vallies travel to the deep;
Appointed to receive their tide.
There haſt thou fix’d the ocean’s mounds.9
The threat’ning ſurges to repel:
That they no more o’erpaſs their bounds,
Nor to a ſecond deluge ſwell.
