THE PSALMS of DAVID, PSALM LXXV

We thank, and praise Thee, God; For that thy Name is near, Thy Pow'r, and Grace, which succours us, Thy wondrous Works declare. When I receive the Tribes, Strict Justice I'll maintain. Our Land, and People, are dissolv'd; It's Pillars I sustain. Let Fools from Folly cease; And wicked curb their Pride. I said, lift not your Horn on high; Lay your proud Talk aside. For from East, West, or South, Promotion never springs. But God is Judge, who lifts up one, And down another flings. For in Iehovah's Hand, There is a dreadful Cup; The Wine is red, with bitter Drugs 'Tis fully mixed up: From thence he poureth out, To each as he doth please; But th' Impious all shall wring the Dregs, And drink the very Lees. I'll ever speak, and sing, The God of Iacob's Praise. I'll cut off all the Wicked's Horns, The Just to Honour raise.