COUNTESS OF WINCHILSEA 227 �That I may live, thy mercy send, �From thence, my vital breath I draw, �My life does on thy love depend, And all my love, is on thy law. �THE 146TH PSALM PARAPHRAS'D �Oh ! praise the Lord, and lett his fame be told, Oh! now my Soul, thy best affections raise, �To him, who gave, and does thy being hold, �Return thy gratefull Hymns, and thy loud songs of Praise. �In man, in Princes, who the Scepter's sway, Can there be faith repos'd, can there be trust? �Their promises, alas! are vain as they, �Their promises are air, and they alas! are dust. �The breath of man, shall certainly expire, �His Soul forsake him, and his thoughts shall dye, �His body, to the lowly Grave retire, �Who then can trust on man, who, can on man relye. �He only can be safe, he only blest, �Above the reach of falsehood, or decay, His hopes at Anchor, and his fears att rest, �Whose trust is in the Lord, whose God, is all his stay. �He who the Heavens, and Air, and Earth, the Deep �With all therein, created by his word, His word to all Eternity shall keep ; �His Will is sacred truth, and Power, is with the Lord. �Mercy, and Justice, still with him remain, �That feeds the hungry, this th' oprest releives ; �Mercy, dissolves th' afflicted Pris'ner's chain, �To long benighted Eyes, mercy the light retreives. ��� �
Page:Poems of Anne Countess of Winchilsea 1903.djvu/365
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