Dreadful sin chas­tis­ing God,
If the de­cree is past,
If the long im­pend­ing rod
Must scourge our land at last,
When Thou dost in wrath re­prove
The sin­ners who Thy judg­ments dare,
Spare the rem­nant, Lord, in love
Thy pray­ing peo­ple spare.

If on such a land as this
Thou must av­eng­èd be,
Yet pre­serve in per­fect peace
The souls that trust on Thee;
Hide their pre­cious lives above,
And make them Thy pe­cul­iar care;
Spare the rem­nant, Lord, in love
Thy pray­ing people spare.

Mark the men, who deep­ly sigh
Our loath­some crimes to view,
Hear their de­pre­cat­ing cry,
And save the mourn­ful few;
Far from them the plague re­move,
The fa­mine, and the waste of war;
Spare the rem­nant, Lord, in love
Thy pray­ing peo­ple spare.

To Thy lit­tle flock of sheep,
O that Thy grace might join
Us, ev’n us who fain would weep
Beneath the wrath di­vine:
Help us, O Thou Ho­ly Dove,
To breathe the much av­ail­ing pray­er,
Spare the rem­nant, Lord, in love
Thy pray­ing peo­ple spare.

Surely now in part we feel
The an­swer to our cry;
Thou Thine an­ger dost re­veal,
And bring the judg­ment nigh;
Now the com­ing woes we prove,
And groan the com­mon ills to bear;
Spare the rem­nant, Lord, in love
Thy pray­ing peo­ple spare.

Grant us still to pray and grieve
Till all the wrath is past;
This the sign Thou wilt for­give
And heal our land at last:
Heavily till then we move,
And sigh our sym­pa­thiz­ing care,
Spare the rem­nant, Lord, in love
Thy pray­ing peo­ple spare.