Pause II

Monarchs of wide command, Praise ye th' eternal King; Judges, adore that sovereign hand Whence all your honours spring.

Let vigorous youth engage To sound his praises high; While growing babes, and withering age, Their feebler voices try.

United zeal be shown, His wondrous fame to raise; God is the Lord: his name alone Deserves our endless praise.

Let nature join with art, And all pronounce him blest; But saints that dwell so near his heart, Should sing his praises best.

Psalm 149. Praise God, all his saints; or, The saints judging the world.

All ye that love the Lord, rejoice, And let your songs be new; Amidst the church with cheerful voice His later wonders shew.

The Jews, the people of his grace, Shall their Redeemer sing; And Gentile nations join the praise, While Zion owns her King.

The Lord takes pleasure in the just, Whom sinners treat with scorn; The meek that lie despis'd in dust Salvation shall adorn.

Saints should be joyful in their King, Ev'n on a dying bed; And like the souls in glory sing, For God shall raise the dead.

Then his high praise shall fill their tongues, Their hands shall wield the sword; And vengeance shall attend their songs, The vengeance of the Lord.

When Christ his judgment-seat ascends, And bids the world appear, Thrones are prepar'd for all his friends, Who humbly lov'd him here.

Then shall they rule with iron rod Nations that dar'd rebel; And join the sentence of their God On tyrants doom'd to hell.

The royal sinners bound in chains New triumphs shall afford; Such honour for the saints remains: Praise ye, and love the Lord.