THE PSALMS of DAVID, PSALM CXXXII

Thy Promise, Lord, to David, mind, And all the Chast'ning of thy Rod. How to Iehovah he hath sworn, And vow'd to Iacob's mighty God. I will not go into my House, Not on my Bed my Limbs, repose; No Sleep I'll to mine Eyes afford, Nor Slumber shall mine Eye-lids close; 'Till, for the Lord, I have found out, And for his Ark, a resting Place; Which shall the future Dwelling be, Of the great God of Iacob's Race. Behold, we heard it's spreading Fame, At Ephrata; but now have found The chosen Spot, for it's Abode, Where Hills of mighty Woods surround. We'll go into his sacred Tents, Our Worship, at his Foot-stool, pay. Arise, O Lord, into thy Rest; And with thine Ark of Strength there stay. Array thy Priests with Righteousness; Let all thy Saints aloud rejoice. And for thy Servant David's Sake, Despise not thine Anointed's Voice.