PSALME CXV.
As the 9.
VVE nothing can of merit clame:
Not for our sakes thy aide afford;
But for the honour of thy Name,
Thy Mercy, and unfailing VVord.
VVhy should th'insulting Heathen cry;
VVher's now the God they vainly praise?
Our Lord inthron'd above the Skie,
All underneath at pleasure swaies.
Their Gods but Gold and silver be,
Made by a fraile Artificer:
For they have eyes, that cannot see;
Dumbe mouthes, and eares that cannot heare,
Fooles on their Altars incense throw,
VVho nothing smell; their Feet are bound,
Nor have they power to moove or goe:
Their throats give passage to no sound.
Their hands can neither give nor take;
Unapt to punish or defend:
As senselesse they who Idols make,
[Part. 2] Or to their carved Statues bend.
Your hopes on God, O Israel, place;