7 O Israel, make the Lord thy hope,
Thy help, thy refuge, and thy rest;
The Lord shall build thy ruins up,
And bless the people and the priest.

8 The dead no more can speak thy praise,
They dwell in silence and the grave;
But we shall live to sing thy grace,
And tell the world thy power to save.

Psalm 115:2.  Second Metre. 
As the new tune of the 50th Psalm. 
Popish idolatry reproved.

A psalm for the 5th of November.

1 Not to our names, thou only Just and True, Not to our worthless names is glory due; Thy power and grace, thy truth and justice claim Immortal honours to thy sovereign Name:  Shine thro’ the earth from heaven, thy blest abode, Nor let the heathens say, “And where’s your God?”

2 Heaven is thine higher court; there stands thy throne, And thro’ the lower worlds thy will is done:  Our God fram’d all this earth, these heavens he spread, But fools adore the gods their hands have made:  The kneeling crowd, with looks devout, behold Their silver saviours, and their saints of gold.

3 [Vain are those artful shapes of eyes and ears; The molten image neither sees nor hears:  Their hands are helpless, nor their feet can move, They have no speech, nor thought, nor power, nor love; Yet sottish mortals make their long complaints To their deaf idols, and their moveless saints.

4 The rich have statues well adorn’d with gold; The poor, content with gods of coarser mould, With tools of iron carve the senseless stock, Lopt from a tree, or broken from a rock:  People and priest drive on the solemn trade, And trust the gods that saws and hammers made.]

5 Be heaven and earth amaz’d!  ’Tis hard to say Which is more stupid, or their gods or they:  O Israel, trust the Lord, he hears and sees, He knows thy sorrows, and restores thy peace:  His worship does a thousand comforts yield, He is thy help, and he thy heavenly shield.

6 O Britain, trust the Lord:  thy foes in vain Attempt thy ruin, and oppose his reign; Had they prevail’d, darkness had clos’d our days, And death and silence had forbid his praise; But we are sav’d, and live:  let songs arise, And Britain bless the God that built the skies.

Psalm 116:1.  First Part. 
Recovery from sickness.

1 I love the Lord; he heard my cries,
And pity’d every groan: 
Long as I live, when troubles rise,
I’ll hasten to his throne.

2 I love the Lord; he bow’d his ear,
And chas’d my griefs away;
O let my heart no more despair,
While I have breath to pray!

3 My flesh declin’d, my spirits fell,
And I drew near the dead,
While inward pangs, and fears of hell
Perplex’d my wakeful head.

4 “My God,” I cry’d “thy servant save,
“Thou ever good and just;
“Thy power can rescue from the grave,
“Thy power is all my trust.”

5 The Lord beheld me sore distrest,
He bid my pains remove: 
Return, my soul, to God thy rest,
For thou hast known his love.