PSALM CXIII. I. YE-Priests of GOD, whose happy Days Are spent in your Creator's Praise, Still more and more his Fame express! Ye pious Worshippers proclaim With Shouts of Joy his holy Name; Nor satisfy'd with praising, bless. II. Let GOD's high Praises still resound Beyond old Time's too scanty Bound, And thro' eternal Ages pierce, From where the Sun first gilds the Streams To where he sets with purpled Beams, Thro' all the wide-stretch'd Universe. III. The various Tribes of Earth obey Thy awful and imperial Sway; Nor Earth thy Sov'reign Pow'r confines; Above the Sun's all-chearing Light, Above the Stars, and far more bright Thy pure essential Glory shines. IV. What Mortal form'd of fading Clay, What Native of eternal Day Can with the GOD of Heav'n compare? Yet Angels round thy glorious Throne Thou stoop'st to view: Nor They alone; Ev'n earth-born Men thy Goodness share. V. The Poor Thou liftest from the Dust; The Sinner, if in Thee he trust, From Depths of Guilt and Shame Thou'lt raise; That he, in Peace and Safety plac'd, With Pow'r and Love and Wisdom grac'd, May sing aloud his Saviour's Praise.