Thanks be to God, who heard our prayer,
When we had fears and doubt;
When fierce diseases everywhere,
Compass our land about.
When death, that cruel tyrant made
Poor mortals feel his power;
And to another world have fled.
Hence to return no more.
How melancholy was the sound,
To hear the dying groan:
Can no relief or help be found,
Till we are fled and gone?
And must our troubled spirits fly.
To God, who first them gave?
Our bodies only made to die,
And molder in the grave?
Great God, how mournful was the scene
Where’er this was the case;
But great Thy mercies e’er have been;
To those who trust Thy grace.
Thanks be to God, that we are spared
To see the present day.
O, make us ready, gracious Lord,
Till we be called away.