1 Help, Lord, for men of virtue fail,
Religion loses ground!
The sons of violence prevail,
And treacheries abound.

2 Their oaths and promises they break,
Yet act the flatterer’s part;
With fair, deceitful lips they speak,
And with a double heart.

3 If we reprove some hateful lie,
They scorn our faithful word:
"Are not our lips our own," they cry,
"And who shall be our Lord?"

4 Scoffers appear on ev'ry side,
Where a vile race of men
Is rais'd to seats of pow'r and pride,
And bears the sword in vain.

5 Lord, when iniquities abound,
And blasphemy grows bold,;
When faith is rarely to be found,
And love is waxing cold:

6 Is not thy chariot hastening on!
Hast thou not given this sign?
May we not trust and live upon
A promise so divine?

7 "Yes, saith the Lord, now will I rise,
"And make oppressors flee;
"I shall appear to their surprise,
"And set my servants free"

8 Thy word, like silver sev’n times try'd,
Through ages shall endure;
The men that in thy truth confide,
Shall find thy promise sure.