Psalms 137-139

Psalm 137

1 FAR from ray heavenly home, Far from my Father's breast, Painting I cry, Blest Spirit, come, And speed me to my rest!

2 Upon the willows long My harp has silent hung, How should I sing a cheerful song, Till Thou inspire my tongue?

3 My spirit homeward turns, And fain would thither flee: My heart, O Zion! droops and yearns, When I remember thee.

4 To thee, to thee, I press, A dark and toilsome road, When shall I pass the wilderness, And reach the saints' abode?

5 God of my life, be near! On Thee my hopes I cast:

Oh guide me through the desert drear, And bring me home at last.

Henry Francis Lyte, 1834.

1

Psalm 138

1 WITH all my powers of heart and tongue, I'll praise my Maker in my song:

Angels shall hear the notes I raise, Approve the song, and join the praise.

2 I'll sing Thy truth and mercy, Lord, I'll sing the wonders of Thy word; Not all Thy works and names below, So much Thy power and glory show.

3 To God I cried when troubles rose;

He heard me, and subdued my foes;

He did my rising fears control, And strength diffused through all my soul.

4 The God of heaven maintains His state.

Frowns on the proud, and scorns the great; But from His throne descends to see The sons of humble poverty.

5 Amidst a thousand snares I stand, Upheld and guarded by Thine hand:

Thy words my fainting soul revive, And keep my dying faith alive.

6 Grace will complete what grace begins, To save from sorrows or from sins; The work that wisdom undertakes Eternal mercy ne'er forsakes.

Isaac Watts, 1719.

Psalm 139 (1 of 2)

1 LORD, Thou hast search'd and seen me through;

Thine eye commands with piercing view My rising and my resting hours, My heart and flesh, with all their powers.

2 My thoughts, before they are my own, Are to my God distinctly known;

He knows the words I mean to speak, Ere from my opening lips they break.

3 Within Thy circling power I stand; On every side I find Thy hand;

Awake, asleep, at home, abroad, I am surrounded still with God.

4 Amazing knowledge! vast and great!

What large extent! what lofty height! My soul, with all the powers I boast, Is in the boundless prospect lost.

5 Oh may these thoughts possess my breast, Where'er I rove, where'er I rest! Nor let my weaker passions dare Consent to sin, for God is there.

Isaac Watts, 1719.