Where Thou Hast Chosen to Reside

Where Thou hast chosen to re­side

Great God

fair Sa­lem’s beau­te­ous tow­ers;

The hea­then

with a con­queror’s pride

And with a foe’s re­venge de­vours!

Thy tem­ple round with slaugh­ter red

Which we ad­ore

as well as dread.

The ci­ty once Thy dwell­ing place

With dust and ruins cov­ered o’er

Their rage o’er­turns; their swords de­face

Made wet with wretch­ed Ju­dah’s gore;

No friends their dy­ing friends to mourn;

No eye to weep around their urn.

The vic­tor’s fu­ry to al­lay

The bo­dies of our he­roes slain

Become the wolves’ un­time­ly prey

The vul­ture’s food

on ev­ery plain.

Whose blood

like waves

our wall sur­rounds

That is­sues from their stream­ing wounds.

Fair Zi­on

once Thy dear de­light

Does Sy­ria’s loud de­ri­sion grow;

Once great in arms

and famed in fight

The scorn of each pre­vail­ing foe:

We sink be­neath Thy jeal­ous ire

And near Thy blast­ing breath ex­pire.

Oh

turn Thy shafts! and let the foe

Deriding now Thy migh­ty pow­er

Thy an­ger feel; Thy fu­ry know

The ven­geance of one fear­ful hour;

Who

whelmed in death

across each plain

Shall dread Thy name

they now dis­dain!

The vale where sil­ver Jor­dan strayed

With his pro­pi­tious stream em­braced;

Is

by proud Ed­om’s tri­umph

made

A scene of death! a fright­ful waste;

No sheaves our trod­den fur­rows yield

No har­vests wave along the field.

Oh

drive and ban­ish from Thy thought

That guilt which does our realms de­stroy;

Before Thy eyes be nev­er brought

Those sins that rob of us of each joy;

Our mourn­ful land with slaugh­ter fill

And more than Ed­om’s fu­ry

kill.

Oh

with a par­ent’s pi­ty­ing care

Sad Ju­dah’s wretch­ed king­doms save;

And those whose jus­tice can­not spare

Let Thy su­per­ior mer­cy save;

Thy arm

that does our foe sub­due

Must be both strong and stea­dy

too!

Assert Thy glo­ri­ous strength around

Thy Heav’n

Thy might

and God­head’s fame;

That im­pi­ous worlds

with dread pro­found

May own

and trem­ble at Thy name;

Nor ask

in what Thy arm ex­cels

Who is our God

or where He dwells?

Rise then

in all Thy fu­ry rise

Be our av­eng­ing God once more;

Prostrate be­fore our rav­ished eyes

The na­tions glut­ted with our gore;

Our speak­ing wounds in­voke Thy sky

With a sad voice for ven­geance cry!

Oh

let each sigh the cap­tives send

From the dark pri­son where they moan

In sad­ness

to Thy Heav’n as­cend

And calm Thy wrath; and move Thy throne;

And let Thy pow­er

and pi­ty save

The pris­on­ers

des­tined to the grave;

On im­pi­ous na­tions

that de­ride

Thy arm

a sev­en-fold ven­geance show­er;

And crush the haugh­ty scorn­er’s pride

And quell the loud blas­phem­er’s pow­er.

That we Thy might in songs may raise

As pleased to bless

as we to praise.