1 How long shall thy fierce Anger burn,
LORD, wilt thou never more return?
How long withdraw thy Face,
From us thy chosen Race?
Think on the Tribes thou hast redeem'd,
On Sion's Mount, by thee esteem'd,
The Land that is thine own,
Where once thy Glory shone.

2 Lift up thy Feet, and them destroy,
Who would thy holy Place annoy;
For where thy Servants pray,
Their Banners they display,
Amidst the Work the Artists wrought,
And to such great Perfection brought;
They dreadful Havock make,
And with their Hammers break.

3 Thy holy Church they burnt with Flame,
Tho' consecrated to thy Name;
Thine House they did surround,
And level to the Ground.
Thy Tokens, LORD, no me see;
Our Prophets from Destruction flee,
Nor dost thou let us know,
The End of this our Woe.
and what escap'd the Flame,
Has been profan'd, and quite defac'd,

Part II

4 But, LORD, how long must we submit?
How long, O GOD, wilt thou permit,
Th'insulting foe to boast;
And shall thy Name be lost?
Why dost thou on thy patient Breast,
Let thy Right-Hand so calmly rest,
When Vengeance should o'erthrow.
The bold insulting Foe.

5 Thou, as our King, hast often fought,
And for us great Deliv'rance wrought;
Thou didst the Sea divide,
And quell the Monster's Pride.
Resistless Pow'r thou didst employ,
The fierce Leviathan destroy.
Then vanquish'd let him lay,
To savage Beasts a Prey.

5 The solid Rock thou didst divide,
And soon gush'd out the cooling Tide,
And Waters ceas'd to flow,
To let thy People go.
Thou didst create both Day and Night,
The Sun and every feebler Light;
The Summer's sultry Shine,
And Winter's Cold are thine.

Part III

7 Remember, LORD, thy People's Shame,
How foolish Men blaspheme thy Name,
Thy Turtle-Dove restore,
Nor quite forget the Poor.
LORD, make thy atient Promise good;
The Land is fill'd with men of Blood:
Cloath not the Poor with Shame,
But let them bless thy Name.

8 Arise, O GOD! thy Cause maintain,
For Fools each Day thy Name profane;
Thy daring Foes encrease,
Make thou their Triumphs cease.