Why are not sin­ners, Lord, con­sumed
By Thy av­eng­ing rod?
’Tis Lord, be­cause Thou art the good,
And the long suf­fer­ing God.

Tho’ men pro­voke Thee to Thy face,
And Thy rich grace des­pise,
Yet still Thy boun­ty feeds Thy foes,
Thy thun­der sleep­ing lies.

On swift­est wing Thy mer­cy flies,
Thy wrath ad­vanc­es slow;
Long dost Thou whet Thy glit­ter­ing sword
Before it gives the blow.

Long didst Thou bear a guil­ty world
With ra­pine filled and blood;
Thy pa­tience wished to have re­strained
The wide de­stroy­ing flood.

Could ev­en So­dom the impure
Have named ten right­eous men,
Thy flam­ing sword in sul­fur dipped
Would have been sheathed again.

How oft­en did Thy anger burn
Against Thy chos­en seed?
But still Thy heart with­in Thee turned,
For them Thy bow­els plead.

How shall I give My Eph­ra­im up?
My wrath on Is­ra­el vent?
How shall I Ad­mah’s plagues in­flict?
I pi­ty and re­pent.

So great are Thy com­pass­ions, Lord,
Our songs they far ex­ceed;
O may such good­ness melt our hearts
And to re­pent­ance lead!