In Sion's sacred fane the joyous lay

Verse 1

In Sion's sacred fane the joyous lay Thy name attends; thy favour'd people pay The votive offering, Lord; the hallow'd blood Flows round thy altar in a purple flood.

Verse 2

Propitious, thou our faithful vows dost hear; To thee shall fly the sons of men in pray'r.

Verse 3

Thy punishments for sin afflict me sore; Cleanse me, my God, and they shall wound no more.

Verse 4

Blest is the man, whom thou shalt chuse a friend, And in thy sacred temple bid attend! O glorious lot! O heavenly employ! Thy sacred temple fills his soul with joy.

Verse 5

The nations tremble with a dread dismay, When thou thy righteous judgments dost display; When fall thy terrors on the impious proud, When crown thy bright rewards the humbly good.

Verse 6

Great is thy pow'r--when shatter'd by the storm, Thou bid'st the mountain on her base stand firm.

Verse 7

By winds disturb'd, thou still'st the roaring sea, And dost the tumults of the world allay.

Verse 8

Thy thunder rolls, thy rapid lightnings glare; The hearts of all are sunk in awful fear: Thy sun breaks forth, and gives to nature birth; Owns thy beneficence the quicken'd earth:

Verse 9

Thou pour'st thy waters on the thirsty soil; The fatten'd lands reward the ploughman's toil: With fruitful show'rs revived thou the fields, And the rich glebe it's golden produce yields:

Verse 10

Falls on the stubborn earth thy pearly dew; The plains in all their verdant pride we view:

Verse 11

Or on the ridgey hills, or in the vales, The glad'ning influence of thy pow'r prevails;

Verse 12

Gaily the herds along thy pastures rove; Climb the steep cliff, or range the leafy grove; Where'er they range, fair herbs and flow'rs abound; Rich affluence covers the enamel'd ground; Their God, the hills, the plains, the vallies sing, And bless the bounties of their heav'nly king.