And are Thy plagues and mer­cies, Lord,
Already out of mind?
Thy threat­en­ing and pre­serv­ing word
So quick­ly cast be­hind?

The crowd alarmed with short sur­prise,
And spared, alas! In vain,
Started, and half un­sealed their eyes,
And dropped to sleep again.

If trou­ble for a mo­ment seize
Their un­awak­ened breast,
The trou­ble but con­firms their peace,
The earth­quake rocks to rest.

Thy words be­hind their back they cast,
Thy pa­tient pi­ty scorn,
Nor thank Thee for the judg­ment past,
Nor dream of its re­turn.

But whe­ther they Thine hand will see,
Or still Thine an­ger dare,
Savior of men, we turn to Thee,
With thank­ful­ness, and pray­er.

We own Thy mer­cy in the stroke,
Thy praise to Thee we give,
That when the earth be­neath us shook,
Thou wouldst not let it cleave.

The cause of all, our na­tion’s sin,
We mourn­ful­ly con­fess;
But Thou who didst the shock be­gin,
Hast made the mo­tion cease.

Vapors and damps con­fessed their God,
And did Thy word ful­fill,
And earth ob­served its mak­er’s nod,
And trem­bled, and was still.

Accepting our de­liv­er­ance, Lord,
Our long, or short, re­prieve,
Thy won­drous good­ness we re­cord,
And to Thy glo­ry live.

We ne­ver will the grace for­get,
But thank­ful­ly im­prove,
And still in songs of praise re­peat
Thy pro­vi­den­tial love.