Praise due to God, not to idols. <br /> <br />Awake, ye saints; to praise your King, <br />Your sweetest passions raise, <br />Your pious pleasure, while you sing, <br />Increasing with the praise. <br /> <br />Great is the Lord, and works unknown <br />Are his divine employ; <br />But still his saints are near his throne, <br />His treasure and his joy. <br /> <br />Heav'n, earth, and sea confess his hand; <br />He bids the vapors rise; <br />Lightning and storm at his command <br />Sweep through the sounding skies. <br /> <br />All power that gods or kings have claimed <br />Is found with him alone <br />But heathen gods should ne'er be named <br />Where our Jehovah's known. <br /> <br />Which of the stocks or stones they trust <br />Can give them showers of rain? <br />In vain they worship glitt'ring dust, <br />And pray to gold in vain. <br /> <br />[Their gods have tongues that cannot talk, <br />Such as their makers gave; <br />Their feet were ne'er designed to walk, <br />Nor hands have power to save. <br /> <br />Blind are their eyes, their ears are deaf, <br />Nor hear when mortals pray; <br />Mortals that wait for their relief <br />Are blind and deaf as they.] <br /> <br />O Britain, know thy living God, <br />Serve him with faith and fear; <br />He makes thy churches his abode, <br />And claims thine honors there.<br /><br />Isaac Watts<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/psalm-135/
