Psalm 125:1.  C. M.
The saint’s trial and safely.

1 Unshaken as the sacred hill,
And firm as mountains be,
Firm as a rock the soul shall rest
That leans, O Lord, on thee.

2 Not walls nor hills could guard so well
Old Salem’s happy ground,
As those eternal arms of love
That every saint surround.

3 While tyrants are a smarting scourge
To drive them near to God,
Divine compassion does allay
The fury of the rod.

4 Deal gently, Lord, with souls sincere,
And lead them safely on
To the bright gates of Paradise,
Where Christ their Lord is gone.

5 But if we trace those crooked ways
That the old serpent drew,
The wrath that drove him first to hell
Shall smite his followers too.

Psalm 125:2.  S. M.
The saints’ trial and safety;
or, Moderated afflictions.

1 Firm and unmov’d are they
That rest their souls on God;
Firm as the mount where David dwelt
Or where the ark abode.

2 As mountains stood to guard
The city’s sacred ground,
So God and his almighty love
Embrace his saints around.

3 What tho’ the Father’s rod
Drop a chastising stroke,
Yet, lest it wound their souls too deep,
Its fury shall be broke.

4 Deal gently, Lord, with those
Whose faith and pious fear,
Whose hope, and love, and every grace
Proclaim their hearts sincere.

5 Nor shall the tyrant’s rage
Too long oppress the saint;
The God of Israel will support
His children lest they faint.

6 But if our slavish fear
Will chuse the road to hell,
We must expect our portion there
Where bolder sinners dwell.

Psalm 126:1.  L. M.
Surprising deliverance.

1 When God restor’d our captive state, Joy was our song, and grace our theme; The grace beyond our hopes so great, That joy appear’d a painted dream.

2 The scoffer owns thy hand, and pays Unwilling honours to thy Name; While we with pleasure shout thy praise, With cheerful notes thy love proclaim.

3 When we review our dismal fears,
’Twas hard to think they’d vanish so;
With God we left our flowing tears,
He makes our joys like rivers flow.

4 The man that in his furrow’d field His scatter’d seed with sadness leaves, Will shout to see the harvest yield A welcome load of joyful sheaves.

Psalm 126:2.  C. M.
The joy of a remarkable conversion;
or, Melancholy removed.

1 When God reveal’d his gracious Name,
And chang’d my mournful state,
My rapture seem’d a pleasing dream,
The grace appear’d so great.

2 The world beheld the glorious change,
And did thy hand confess;
My tongue broke out in unknown strains,
And sung surprising grace: 

3 “Great is the work,” my neighbours cry’d,
And own’d the power divine;
“Great is the work,” my heart reply’d,
“And be the glory thine.”