Poems (Taggart)/Psalm Forty-first

by Cynthia Taggart

PSALM XLI.

Blest is the wise and gracious man
 Whose trust is in the Lord,
Who bows to his divine control,
 And keeps his holy word;

Whose heart in gentle pity moves
 For the oppressed and poor,
Who all his hapless brethren loves,
 And welcomes to his door;

Whose sympathizing spirit feels
 The force of others' pain,
To whom the suppliant ne'er appeals
 For succouring aid in vain.—

He soothes the wretched mourner's grief,
 And large his bounty flows;
He grants the needy sweet relief,
 And banishes their woes.

He ne'er distrusts the piteous tale
 Disclosed in anguish deep,
Nor flies when hopeless griefs prevail,
 But weeps with those that weep.

He shall be blest in all his ways,
 His foes shall ne'er prevail;
He shall prolong his prosperous days,
 And pleasures never fail.

The Lord shall be his strength and aid;
 And, when disease invades,
When languishing upon his bed,
 His mortal beauty fades,

Then holy comforts shall sustain,
 And heavenly thoughts employ,
Shall banish every wasting pain
 And fill with boundless joy.

And when death lays his senseless form
 Low in the peaceful tomb,
His soul shall gain the perfect charm
 Of full expanded bloom;—

Shall soar triumphant to the skies
 On love's seraphic wing,
And the new song in raptures raise,
 To heaven's eternal King.