Arise, O Lord, with heal­ing rod,
Lift up Thine hand and save, O God;
Arise to help the meek: for why
Should im­pi­ous tongues Thy name de­fy?

Aloud they boast, Our acts are free;
God hides His face, God will not see;
But Thou hast seen: Thy pierc­ing ray
Through sin’s dark wind­ings flash­es day.

Recorded by Thy right­eous hand
The sin­ner’s deeds for judg­ment stand:
To Thee the poor com­mits his cause,
His help from Thee the friend­less draws.

Quell Thou the scorn­ful arm, and beat
The proud op­press­or from his seat:
Proclaim—The reign of sin is o’er,
The place that knew it knows no more.

O Lord the King of bound­less might,
The wick­ed per­ish from Thy sight:
’Tis Thine the droop­ing heart to cheer,
The cries of pray­ing saints to hear.

The or­phan’s in­jured cause to try,
And, in Thy peo­ple’s per­il nigh,
To snatch them from the spoil­er’s rage,
And guard their right­ful he­ri­tage.