O God, Thy right­eous­ness we own,
Laid by Thy threat­en­ing judg­ments low,
Beneath a na­tion’s load we groan,
And more than share the com­mon woe,
The com­mon woe, so long de­layed
Which bursts in thun­der on our head.

Warned by Thy Spir­it’s gra­cious call
We looked for this vin­dic­tive day;
And still we at Thy foot­stool fall,
And still we weep, and watch, and pray:
Hear, Je­su, hear our mourn­ful pray­er,
And spare, the sin­ful na­tion spare.

Why should they still be strick­en, Lord,
When all Thy strokes are spent in vain?
They will not see the in­vad­ing sword,
But dare Thy lift­ed arm again,
And deep re­volt­ing more and more,
Defy Thine an­ger’s ut­most pow­er.

Still they pro­voke Thy glo­ri­ous eyes,
And scorn Thy out­stretched arm to fear,
Thy gra­cious calls they still des­pise,
And vex Thy faith­ful ser­vants here,
And hunt to death the right­eous soul,
And make their guil­ty mea­sure full.

Though twice ten thou­sand souls are fled
With pain to their eter­nal home,
The rest dis­dain Thy wrath to dread,
And ea­ger for their in­stant doom,
With pha­raoh’s rage pur­sue Thy sheep,
And rush in­to the hell­ish deep.

Yet for the hon­or of Thy love
The peo­ple of Thy wrath for­bear,
Their sin and pun­ish­ment remove,
The fury and the waste of war;
Pluck from the fire, al­migh­ty God,
And quench the brands in Je­sus’ blood!