Scripture Verse

O God, why hast Thou cast us off for ever? Why doth Thine anger smoke against the sheep of Thy pasture? Psalm 74:1

Introduction

portrait
John B. Dykes (1823–1876)

Words: Is­aac Watts, The Psalms of Da­vid 1719. The Church plead­ing with God un­der sore per­se­cu­tions.

Music: Be­ati­tu­do John B. Dykes, in Hymns An­cient and Mo­dern, 1875 (🔊 pdf nwc).

portrait
Isaac Watts (1674–1748)

Lyrics

Will God for ev­er cast us off?
His wrath for ev­er smoke
Against the peo­ple of His love,
His lit­tle chos­en flock?

Think of the tribes so dear­ly bought
With their Re­deem­er’s blood;
Nor let Thy Si­on be forgot,
Where once Thy glo­ry stood.

Lift up Thy feet and march in haste,
Aloud our ru­in calls;
See what a wide and fear­ful waste
Is made with­in Thy walls.

Where once Thy church­es prayed and sang,
Thy foes pro­fane­ly roar;
Over Thy gates their en­signs hang,
Sad to­kens of their pow­er.

How are the seats of wor­ship broke!
They tear the build­ings down,
And he that deals the hea­vi­est stroke
Procures the chief re­nown.

With flames they threat­en to d­estroy
Thy child­ren in their nest;
Come, let us burn at once, they cry,
The tem­ple and the priest.

And still, to height­en our dis­tress,
Thy pre­sence is with­drawn;
Thy wont­ed signs of pow­er and grace,
Thy pow­er and grace are gone.

No pro­phet speaks to calm our woes,
But all the seers mourn;
There’s not a soul amongst us knows
The time of Thy re­turn.

How long, eter­nal God, how long
Shall men of pride blas­pheme?
Shall saints be made their end­less song,
And bear im­mor­tal shame?

Canst Thou for ev­er sit and hear
Thine ho­ly name pro­faned?
And still Thy jeal­ousy for­bear,
And still with­hold Thine hand?

What strange de­liv­er­ance hast Thou shown
In ag­es long be­fore!
And now no oth­er god we own,
No oth­er god adore.

Thou didst di­vide the rag­ing sea
By Thy re­sist­less might,
To make Thy tribes a won­drous way,
And then se­cure their flight.

Is not the world of na­ture Thine,
The dark­ness and the day?
Didst Thou not bid the morn­ing shine,
And mark the sun his way?

Hath not Thy pow­er formed ev­ery coast,
And set the earth its bounds,
With sum­mer’s heat, and win­ter’s frost,
In their per­pe­tu­al rounds?

And shall the sons of earth and dust
That sac­red pow­er blas­pheme?
Will not Thy hand that formed them first
Avenge Thine in­jured name?

Think on the co­ve­nant Thou hast made,
And all Thy words of love;
Nor let the birds of prey in­vade,
And vex Thy mourn­ing dove.

Our foes would tri­umph in our blood,
And make our hope their jest;
Plead Thy own cause, Al­migh­ty God,
And give Thy child­ren rest.