Hymns for Times of Trouble, for the Year 1745, 4

O God, Thy righteousness we own,
Laid by Thy threatening judgments low,
Beneath a nation's load we groan,
And more than share the common woe,
The common woe, so long delay'd,
Which bursts in thunder on our head.

Warn'd by Thy Spirit's gracious call,
We look'd for this vindictive day;
And still we at Thy footstool fall,,
And still we weep, and watch, and pray:
Hear, Jesu, hear our mournful prayer,
And spare, the sinful nation spare.

Why should they still be stricken, Lord,
When all Thy strokes are spent in vain?
They will not see the' invading sword,
But dare Thy lifted arm again,
And deep-revolting more and more,
Defy Thine anger's utmost power.

Still they provoke Thy glorious eyes,
And scorn Thy outstretch'd arm to fear,
Thy gracious calls they still despise,
And vex Thy faithful servants here,
And hunt to death the righteous soul,
And make their guilty measure full.

Though twice ten thousand souls are fled
With pain to their eternal home,
The rest disdain Thy wrath to dread,
And eager for their instant doom
With Pharaotts rage pursue Thy sheep,
And rush into the hellish deep.

Yet for the honour of Thy love
The people of Thy wrath forbear,
Their sin and punishment remove,
The fury and the waste of war;
Pluck from the fire, Almighty God,
And quench the brands in Jesus' blood!