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PSALM 75. L.M.
The hand of God acknowledged. (cont.)

6	But lay their impious thoughts aside, And own the empire God hath made.

PSALM 76. C.M.
God protects his church.

1	IN Judah, God of old was known;    His name in Israel great; In Salem stood his holy throne,    And Zion was his seat.
2	What are the earth's wide kingdoms else,    Than mighty hills of prey? The hill, on which Jehovah dwells,    More glorious is than they.
3	'Twas Zion's king, who stopt the breath    Of captains, and their hosts: The men of might slept fast in death;    And vain were all their boasts.
4	At thy rebuke, O Jacob's God,    Both horse and chariot fell; Who knows the terrors of thy rod!    Thy vengeance who can tell!
5	When God in his own sov'reign ways    Comes down to save th' opprest; The wrath of man shall work his praise,    And he'll restrain the rest.
6	Vow to the Lord, and tribute bring,    Ye princes fear his frown; His terror shakes the proudest king,    And cuts an army down.
7	The thunder of his sharp rebuke    Our haughty foes shall feel: The God of Jacob ne'er forsook,    But dwells in Zion still.

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PSALM 77. First Part. C.M.
Hope prevailing over despondency.

1	TO God I cried with mournful voice    I sought his gracious ear: In the sad hour when troubles rose;    And fill'd my heart with fear.
2	Gloomy my days, and dark my nights;    My soul refus'd relief: I thought on God, the just and wise,    But thoughts increased my grief.
3	Still I complain'd, and, still opprest,    My heart began to break; My God, thy wrath forbade my rest,    And kept my eyes awake.
4	My overwhelming sorrows grew,    'Till I could speak no more; Then I within myself withdrew,    And call'd thy judgments o'er.
5	I call'd back years and ancient times,    When I beheld thy face; My spirit search'd for secret crimes,    That might withhold thy grace.
6	I call'd thy mercies to my mind,    Which I enjoy'd before; And will the Lord no more be kind?    His face appear no more?
7	Will he forever cast me off?    And will his promise fail? Hath he forgot his tender love?    Shall anger still prevail?
8	But I forbid this hopeless thought,    This dark, despairing frame; Rememb'ring what thy hand hath wrought:    Thy hand is still the same.