Savior, visit Thy plan­ta­tion,
Grant us, Lord, a gra­cious rain!
All will come to de­so­la­tion,
Unless Thou re­turn again.

Keep no long­er at a dist­ance,
Shine up­on us from on high;
Lest, for want of Thine as­sist­ance;
Every plant would droop and die.

Surely, once Thy gar­den flour­ished,
Every part looked gay and green;
Then Thy Word our spi­rits nour­ished,
Happy sea­sons we have seen!

But a drought has since suc­ceeded,
And a sad de­cline we see;
Lord, Thy help is great­ly need­ed,
Help can on­ly come from Thee.

Where are those we count­ed lead­ers,
Filled with zeal, and love, and truth?
Old pro­fess­ors, tall as ce­dars,
Bright ex­am­ples to our youth!

Some, in whom we once de­light­ed,
We shall meet no more be­low;
Some, alas! we fear are blight­ed,
Scarce a sin­gle leaf they show.

Younger plants—the sight how plea­sant,
Covered thick with blos­soms stood;
But they cause us grief at pre­sent,
Frosts have nipped them in the bud!

Dearest Sav­ior, hast­en hi­ther,
Thou canst make them bloom again;
O, per­mit them not to wi­ther,
Let not all our hopes be vain!

Let our mu­tu­al love be fer­vent,
Make us pre­va­lent in pray­ers;
Let each one es­teemed Thy ser­vant,
Shun the world’s be­witch­ing snares.

Break the tempt­er’s fa­tal pow­er,
Turn the sto­ny heart to flesh;
And be­gin, from this good hour,
To re­vive Thy work afresh.