Lord, we have heard Thy works of old,
Thy works of pow­er and grace,
When to our ears our fa­thers told
The won­ders of their days.

How Thou didst build Thy church­es here,
And make Thy Gos­pel known;
Amongst them did Thine arm ap­pear,
Thy light and glo­ry shone.

In God they boast­ed all the day,
And in a cheer­ful throng
Did thou­sands meet to praise and pray,
And grace was all their song.

But now our souls are seized with shame,
Confusion fills our face,
To hear the enemy blas­pheme,
And fools re­proach Thy grace.

Yet we have not for­got our God,
Nor false­ly dealt with Heav’n,
Nor have our steps de­clined the road
Of du­ty Thou hast giv’n.

Though dra­gons all around us roar
With their de­struct­ive breath,
And Thine own hand has bruised us sore
Hard by the gates of death.

We are ex­posed all day to die
As mar­tyrs for Thy cause,
As sheep for slaugh­ter bound we lie
By sharp and bloody laws.

Awake, arise, Al­migh­ty Lord,
Why sleeps Thy wont­ed grace?
Why should we look like men ab­horred
Or ban­ished from Thy face?

Wilt Thou for ev­er cast us off
And still ne­glect our cries?
For ev­er hide Thine heav’n­ly love
From our af­flict­ed eyes?

Down to the dust our soul is bowed,
And dies up­on the ground;
Rise for our help, re­buke the proud,
And all their pow­ers con­found.

Redeem us from per­pe­tu­al shame,
Our Sav­ior and our God;
We plead the hon­ors of Thy name,
The mer­its of Thy blood.