1 How pleas'd and blest was I To hear the people cry, "Come, let us seek our God to-day!" Yes, with a cheerful zeal, We haste to Zion's hill, And there our vows and honours pay. 2 Zion, thrice happy place, Adorn'd with wondrous grace, And walls of strength embrace thee round; In thee our tribes appear To pray, and praise, and hear The sacred gospel's joyful sound. 3 There David's greater Son Has fix'd his royal throne, He sits for grace and judgment there; He bids the saint be glad, He makes the sinner sad, And humble souls rejoice with fear. 4 May peace attend thy gate, And joy within thee wait To bless the soul of every guest! The man that seeks thy peace, And wishes thine increase, A thousand blessings on him rest! 5 My tongue repeats her vows "Peace to this sacred house!" For there my friends and kindred dwell; And since my glorious God Makes thee his blest abode, My soul shall ever love thee well. Repeat the fourth stanza to complete the Tune. Psalm 123. Pleading with submission. 1 O thou whose grace and justice reign Enthron'd above the skies, To thee our hearts would tell their pain, To thee we lift our eyes. 2 As Servants watch their master's hand, And fear the angry stroke; Or maids before their mistress stand, And wait a peaceful look; 3 So for our sins we justly feel Thy discipline, O God; Yet wait the gracious moment still, Till thou remove thy rod. 4 Those that in wealth and pleasure live Our daily groans deride, And thy delays of mercy give Fresh courage to their pride. 5 Our foes insult us, but our hope In thy compassion lies; This thought shall bear our spirits up, That God will not despise. Psalm 124. A song for the fifth of November. 1 Had not the Lord, may Israel say, Had not the Lord maintain'd our side, When men to make our lives a prey, Rose like the swelling of the tide; 2 The swelling tide had stopt our breath, So fiercely did the waters roll, We had been swallow'd deep in death; Proud waters had o'erwhelm'd our soul. 3 We leap for joy, we shout and sing, Who just escap'd the fatal stroke; So flies the bird with cheerful wing, When once the fowler's snare is broke. 4 For ever blessed be the Lord, Who broke the fowler's cursed snare, Who sav'd us from the murdering sword, And made our lives and souls his care. 5 Our help is in Jehovah's Name, Who form'd the earth and built the skies; He that upholds that wondrous frame Guards his own church with watchful eyes. 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.