Come and be­hold the works of God,
What de­so­la­tions He will make;
In ven­geance, when He wields His rod,
The hea­then rage, their king­doms quake:
He ut­ters forth His voice—’tis felt—
Like wax the world’s foun­da­tions melt;
The Lord of hosts is in the field,
The God of Ja­cob is our shield.

Again He mak­eth wars to cease,
He breaks the bow, un­points the spear,
And burns the cha­ri­ot—joy and peace
In all His glo­ri­ous march ap­pear:
Silence, O earth! thy mak­er own;
Ye Gen­tiles, He is God alone;
The Lord of hosts is in the field,
The God of Ja­cob is our shield.