Let God arise, let His enemies be scattered: let them also that hate Him flee before Him.
Psalm 68:1
Words: From A New Version of the Psalms of David, by Nahum Tate & Nicholas Brady, 1698, alt.
Music: Spires from Geistliche Lieder, by Joseph Klug, 1543. Harmony by Johann S. Bach (🔊 pdf nwc).
If you know where to get a good picture of Klug (head & shoulders, at least 200×300 pixels),
Alternate Tunes:
Let God, the God of battle, rise,
And scatter His presumptuous foes;
Let shameful rout their host surprise,
Who spitefully His power oppose.
As smoke in tempest’s rage is lost,
Or wax into the furnace cast;
So let the sacrilegious host
Before His wrathful presence waste.
But let the servants of His will
His favor’s gentle beams enjoy;
Their upright hearts let gladness fill,
And cheerful songs their tongues employ.
To Him your voice in anthems raise;
Jehovah’s awful name He bears:
In Him rejoice, extol His praise,
Who rides upon high-rolling spheres.
He, from His empire of the skies,
To this low world compassion draws,
The orphan’s claim to patronize,
And judge the injured widow’s cause.
’Tis God who from a foreign soil
Restores poor exiles to their home,
Makes captives free; and fruitless toil
Their proud oppressors’ righteous doom.
’Twas so of old, when Thou didst lead
In person, Lord, our armies forth:
Strange terrors through the desert spread,
Convulsions shook th’astonished earth.
The breaking clouds did rain distill,
And heav’n’s high arches shook with fear;
How then should Sinai’s humble hill
Of Israel’s God the presence bear?
Thy hand, at famished earth’s complaint,
Relieved her from celestial stores;
And when Thy heritage was faint,
Assuaged the drought with plenteous showers.
Where savages had ranged before,
At ease Thou mad’st our tribes reside;
And, in the desert, for the poor,
Thy generous bounty did provide.
When God His gracious word sent forth,
To make His chosen glad,
Numbers from east, south, west, and north
The joyful tidings spread.
Great kings of armies fled apace,
And met a fatal soil;
While those that stayed at home, with ease
And pleasure shared the spoil.
Though ye among the pots have lain,
Like doves shall ye appear,
With silver wings and gold divine,
From dross and mixture clear.
When God the potent kings expelled
From Canaan at His will,
The whiteness of His robes excelled
The snow of Salmon’s hill.
The hill of God, His chosen seat,
On Zion’s mount is found:
Not Bashan’s hill can boast such state,
Nor all the hills around.
Ye lofty hills, why leap ye so?
This is the hill of God:
Here He hath chose to dwell, and lo!
Here is His fixed abode.
His chariots numberless; His powers
Are heav’nly hosts, that wait His will:
His presence now fills Sion’s towers,
As once it honored Sinai’s hill.
Ascending high, in triumph Thou
Captivity hast captive led;
And on Thy people didst bestow
The spoil of armies, once their dread.
E’en rebels shall partake Thy grace,
And humble proselytes repair
To worship at Thy dwelling place,
And all the world pay homage there.
We bless the Lord, the just, the good,
Who fills our hearts with heav’nly food;
Who pours His blessings from the skies,
And loads our days with rich supplies.
He sends His sun His circuit round,
To cheer the fruits, to warm the ground;
He bids the clouds with plenteous rain
Refresh the thirsty earth again.
Tis to His care we owe our breath,
And all our near escapes from death:
Safety and health to God belong;
He heals the weak, and guards the strong,
He makes the saint and sinner prove
The common blessings of His love;
But the wide difference that remains,
Is endless joy, or endless pains.
The Lord that bruised the serpent’s head,
On all the serpent’s seed shall tread,
The stubborn sinner’s hope confound,
And smite Him with a lasting wound.
But His right hand His saints shall raise
From deepest earth or deeper seas,
And bring them to His courts above;
There shall they taste His special love.
For benefits each day bestowed,
Be daily His great name adored;
Who is our Savior and our God,
Of life and death the sovereign Lord.
Who, mounted on the loftiest sphere
Of ancient Heav’n, sublimely rides;
From whence His dreadful voice we hear,
Like that of warring winds and tides.
Ascribe ye power to God most high
Of humble Israel He takes care;
Whose strength, from out the dusky sky,
Darts shining terrors through the air.
How dreadful are the sacred courts,
Where God has fixed His earthly throne!
His strength His feeble saints supports,
To God give praise, and Him alone.