Jesus, Thou God of nations, bend
The skies, and let the rain descend,
But not Thy wrath—in mercy bless
This land with showers of righteousness.
Pour down some tokens of Thy love;
Impending punishment remove:
Pour down the Spirit of Thy grace,
That every soul may seek Thy face.
Forbid this land should ever be
Forsaken utterly by Thee!
Let not Thy sore displeasure rest
Upon a nation so distressed.
Her woes, her poverty, her need,
With Thy compassion we would plead;
Enrich her, Lord, in every place,
With all the plenitude of grace.
O water every sacred ground,
Where’er the seeds of truth are found,
And make the fruits of Zion’s hill
The glory of this nation still.
Why should this once high-favored place
Be ever banished from Thy face?
Let not our sin our ruin prove,
In wrath descend not, but in love.