In grief and fear, to Thee, O Lord,
We now for suc­cor fly,
Thine awful judg­ments are abroad,
O shield us, lest we die!

The fell dis­ease on ev­ery side
Walks forth with taint­ed breath;
And pes­ti­lence, with ra­pid stride,
Bestrews the land with death.

O look with pi­ty on the scene
Of sad­ness and of dread,
And let Thine an­gel stand be­tween
The liv­ing and the dead!

With con­trite hearts to Thee, our king
We turn, who oft have strayed;
Accept the sac­ri­fice we bring,
And let the plague be stayed.