Psalms 125-126

Psalm 125 (1 of 2)

1 UNSHAKEN as the sacred hill, And firm as mountains be, Firm as a rock the soul shall rest That leans, O Lord, on Thee.

2 Not walls nor hills could guard so well Old Salem's happy ground, As those eternal arms of love That every saint surround.

3 Deal gently, Lord, with souls sincere, And lead them safely on To the bright gates of Paradise, Where Christ their Lord is gone.

4 But if we trace those crooked ways That the old serpent drew, The wrath that drove him first to hell Shall smite his followers too.

Isaac Watts, 1719

Psalm 125 (2 of 2)

1 WHO in the Lord confide, And feel His sprinkled blood, In storms and hurricanes abide Firm as the mount of God.

2 Steadfast and fix'd and sure, His Zion cannot move; His faithful people stand secure, In Jesus' guardian love.

3 As round Jerusalem The hilly bulwarks rise, So God protects and covers them From all their enemies.

4 On every side He stands, And for His Israel cares; And safe in His almighty hands Their souls for ever bears.

5 But let them still abide In Thee, all gracious Lord, Till every soul is sanctified, And perfectly restored.

6 The men of heart sincere Continue to defend; And do them good, and save them here, And love them to the end.

Charles Wesley, 1741.

Psalm 126

1 WHEN God reveal'd His gracious name And changed my mournful state, My rapture seem'd a pleasing dream, The grace appear'd so great.

2 The world beheld the glorious change, And did Thy hand confess: My tongue broke out in unknown strains, And sung surprising grace.

3 "Great is the work," my neighbours cried, And own'd the power divine;

"Great is the work," my heart replied, "And be the glory Thine."

4 The Lord can clear the darkest skies, Can give us day for night;

Make drops of sacred sorrow rise To rivers of delight.

5 Let them that sow in sadness wait Till the fair harvest come;

They shall confess their sheaves are great, And shout the blessings home.

6 Though seed lie burled long in dust, It shan't deceive their hope: The precious grain can ne'er be lost, For grace insures the crop.

Isaac Watts, 1719.