Hymns for the Thanksgiving-Day, 1759, 5

Father of compassions, hear us,
Us who flee
Unto Thee,
While the scourge draws near us.

While inflamed with vengeful ire
BabePs host
Threats our coast,
x rm'd with sword and fire,

Can we 'scape the desolation,
If the brand
In their hand
Be Thine indignation?

If we have fiU'd up our measure,
And our God
Sends the rod
Of His just displeasure!

Who can tell if late repentance
May find grace,
Screen our race
From the dreadful sentence?

Wilt Thou, Lord, be yet entreated
By Thy foes.
Save e'en those
For destruction fitted?

Still in fearful expectation
Guilty we
Wait to see
Thy detemiination.

Father, hear the remnant's prayer,
More than ten
Righteous men
Urging Thee to spare.

Spare the death-devoted city;
Let us prove
All Thy love,
All Thy patient pity.

Mercy is Thy heavenly nature:
Make it known
In Thy Son;
Hear our Mediator.

Hear His all-commanding Spirit
Intercede,
While we plead
Jesus' blood and merit.

Hear— and drop Thy controversy —
Jesus prays!
Wrath, give place,
Judgment, yield to mercy!