O thou (between the cherubims thy throne)

1 O thou (between the cherubims thy throne)
Whom Jacob's faithful race their shepherd own,
Who feed'st thy Israel with a shepherd's care,
Benign O lift; attend our humble pray'r.
2 Thou to thy chosen tribes thy glory shew;
Give them, the influence of thy pow'r to know;
Their many woes thy instant help demand;
O aid them, save them, by thy mighty hand.
3 Our heavy griefs to dissipate is thine;
The clouds disperse, when beams thy light divine.
4 Dread God of battles, will thy anger last?
Prefer a fruitless pray'r thy tribes distrest?
5 Their board with ever-streaming tears bedew'd,
Tears are their only drink, their only food.
6 We of our villain-foes are made the spoil,
And, tho' they quarrel for their spoils the while,
Yet still with cruel, with inhuman pride,
Our sore distresses, scornful, they deride.
7 But all our griefs to heal, O Lord, is thine;
The clouds disperse, when beams thy light divine.
8 A vine thou brought'st from Pharaoh's hostile land;
This vine thou planted'st with thy mighty hand;
9 To make it room, the nations drov'st away;
Deep root she took; and soon did she display
10 Her tendrils far, the mountains soon she shades,
And like the tow'ring, lofty cedar spreads,
11 Her fruitful boughs she stretches to the sea,
To where Euphrates rolls his rapid way.
12 Ah! why does she her broken fences mourn?
Why left unto her foes a prey, a scorn?
13 Why lays the cruel boar her branches waste?
Why on her blooming fruits the bestials feast?
14 Return, O God, and let thy mercy shine
On this thy drooping, desolated vine;;
15 By thee 'twas planted, and by thee grew strong;
By thee in all her pride she flourish'd long;
16 But now destroying flames her boughs devour;
Laid level with the ground, she blooms no more.
17 Indulgent father, kind assistance send;
With thy almighty arm thy vine defend.
O let the man, whom long thou didst adorn
With pow'r, with honours, now no longer mourn;
18 Restore us life, and we'll thy name adore,
And from thy sacred statutes turn no more.
19 All, all our griefs to heal, O Lord, is thine;
The clouds disperse, when beams thy light divine.


Source: New Version of the Psalms of David #LXXX