Scripture Verse

Go through the midst of the city, through the midst of Jerusalem, and set a mark upon the foreheads of the men that sigh and that cry for all the abominations that be done in the midst thereof. And to the others he said in mine hearing, Go ye after him through the city, and smite: let not your eye spare, neither have ye pity: Slay utterly old and young, both maids, and little children, and women: but come not near any man upon whom is the mark. Ezekiel 9:4–6


Philip Doddridge

Words: Phi­lip Dodd­ridge (1702–1751). Pub­lished post­hu­mous­ly in Hymns Found­ed on Va­ri­ous Texts in the Ho­ly Scrip­tures, by Job Or­ton (Shrop­shire, Eng­land: Jo­shua Ed­dowes & John Cot­ton, 1755), num­ber 140: Of la­ment­ing na­tion­al sins.

Music: All­mäch­tig­er Gott Jo­hann Crü­ger, 1640 (🔊 pdf nwc).

Johann Crüger


O right­eous God, Thou judge su­preme,
We trem­ble at Thy dread­ful name,
And all our cry­ing guilt we own,
In dust and tears be­fore Thy throne.

So ma­ni­fold our crimes have been,
Such crim­son tinc­ture dyes our sin,
That, could we all its hor­rors know,
Our stream­ing eyes with blood might flow.

Britain, the land Thine arm hath saved,
That arm most im­pi­ous­ly hath braved;
Britain, the isle its God hath loved,
A re­bel to that love hath proved.

Estranged from re­ver­en­tial awe,
We trample on Thy sac­red law;
And though such won­ders grace hath done,
Anew we cru­ci­fy Thy Son.

Justly might this pol­lut­ed land
Prove all the ven­geance of Thy hand;
And, bathed in Hea­ven Thy sword might come
To drink our blood, and seal our doom.

Yet hast Thou not a rem­nant here,
Whose souls are filled with pi­ous fear?
O bring Thy wont­ed mer­cy nigh,
While pros­trate at Thy feet they lie.

Behold their tears, at­tend their moan,
Nor turn away their sec­ret groan;
With these we join in hum­ble pray­er:
Our na­tion shield, our coun­try spare.

But if the sen­tence be de­creed,
And our dear na­tive land must bleed,
By Thy sure mark may we be known,
And save in life or death Thy own.