Psalm 77 Poem by Isaac Watts
Comfort derived from ancient providences
How awful is thy chast’ning rod!
(May thy own children say)
The great, the wise, the dreadful God!
How holy is his way!”
I’ll meditate his works of old,
Who reigns in heav’n above,
I’ll hear his ancient wonders told,
And learn to trust his love.
He saw the house of Joseph lie
With Egypt’s yoke opprest;
Long he delay’d to hear their cry,
Nor gave his people rest.
The sons of pious Jacob seem’d
Abandon’d to their foes;
But his almighty arm redeem’d
The nation that he chose.
From slavish chains he sets them free
They follow where he calls;
He bade them venture thro’ the deep,
And made the waves their walls.
The waters saw thee, mighty God,
The waters saw thee come;
Backward they fled, and frighted stood,
To make thine armies room.
Strange was thy journey thro’ the sea,
Thy footsteps, Lord, unknown;
Terrors attend the wond’rous way
That brings thy mercies down.
[Thy voice with terror in the sound
Thro’ clouds and darkness broke;
All heav’n in lightning shone around,
And earth with thunder shook.
Thine arrows thro’ the skies were hurl’d,
How glorious is the Lord!
Surprise and tremb’ling seiz’d the world,
And all his saints ador’d.
He gave them water from the rock;
And safe by Moses’ hand,
Thro’ a dry desert led his flock
To Canaan’s promis’d lan