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 flatter'r’s part:
With fair deceitful lips they speak,
And with a double heart.

3 If we reprove some hateful lie,
How is their fury stirr'd!
"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.

Pause.

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

6 Is not thy chariot hast'ning on?
Hast thou not giv'n 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,
Thro' ages shall endure;
The men that in thy truth confide,
Shall find thy promise sure.