Lord, when Thy hand is lifted up,
The wicked will not see:
But they shall see with glowing shame,
Though they obdurate be.
How few the weighty stroke regard,
And seek their Maker’s face!
In vain may Providence correct,
If not enforced by grace.
Exert Thy mighty influence, Lord,
And melt the stony breast;
Then shall Thy justice be adored,
Thy mercy stand confessed.
The scorner then shall mourn in dust,
And put his sins away,
No more resist his Maker’s hands,
But lift his own to pray.