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PSALM 127. L.M.
The blessing of God on the cares and comforts of life.

1	IF God succeed not, all the cost And pains to build the house are lost; If God the city do not keep, The watchful guards as well may sleep.
2	What, tho' you rise before the sun, And work and toil when day is done; Careful and sparing eat your bread, To shun that poverty you dread;
3	'Tis all in vain, till God hath blest; He can make rich, yet give us rest: Children and friends are blessings too, If God, our sov'reign, make them so.
4	Happy the man to whom he sends Obedient children, faithful friends: How sweet our daily comforts prove, When they are season'd with his love!

PSALM 128. C.M.
A christian blessed in his family.

1	O HAPPY man, whose soul is fill'd    With faith and rev'rend awe; Whose lips to God their honours yield,    Whose life adorns the law.
2	A careful Providence shall stand,    And ever guard thy head; And on the labours of thy hand    Its kindly blessings shed.
3	Thy wife shall be a fruitful vine;    Thy children round thy board, Each, like a plant of honour, shine,    And learn to fear the Lord.
4	The Lord shall thy best hopes fulfil,    For months and years to come;

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PSALM 128. C.M.
A christian blessed in his family. (cont.)

4	The Lord, who dwells on Zion's hill,    Shall send the blessings home.
5	This is the man, whose happy eyes    Shall see his house increase; Shall see the sinking church arise,    And leave the world in peace.

PSALM 129. C.M.
Persecutors punished.

1	UP from my youth, may Israel say,    Have I been nurs'd in tears; My griefs were constant as the day,    And tedious as the years.
2	Up from my youth I bore the rage    Of all the sons of strife; Oft they assail'd my riper age,    But not destroy'd my life.
3	Their cruel plough had torn my flesh    With furrows long and deep; Hourly they vex'd my wounds afresh,    Nor let my sorrows sleep.
4	How was their insolence surpris'd,    To hear his thunders roll! And all the foes of Zion seiz'd    With horror to the soul.
5	Thus shall the men that hate the saints,    Be blasted from the sky; Their glory fades, their courage faints.    And all their projects die.
6	What tho' they flourish tall and fair!    They have no root beneath; Their growth shall perish in despair,    And lie despis'd in death.
7	So corn, that on the house-top stands.    No hope of harvest gives;