Scripture Verse

Therefore also now, saith the Lord, turn ye even to Me with all your heart, and with fasting, and with weeping, and with mourning: and rend your heart, and not your garments, and turn unto the Lord your God: for He is gracious and merciful, slow to anger, and of great kindness, and repenteth Him of the evil. Joel 2:12–13

Introduction

portrait
Howard Doane (1832–1915)

Words: Charles Wes­ley, Hymns for Times of Trou­ble and Per­se­cu­tion, se­cond edi­tion, en­larged (Lon­don: Stra­han, 1744), pag­es 63–65.

Music: Vi­sion (Doane) W. How­ard Doane, 1873 (🔊 pdf nwc).

portrait
Charles Wesley (1707–1788)

Lyrics

Wherefore He now in mer­cy cries,
With all your heart, ye sin­ners turn,
To Me, be­fore My wrath arise,
To Me con­fess your sins and mourn;
Chasten your souls with fast sev­ere,
And trem­ble at My judg­ments near.

Your hearts, and not your gar­ments rent,
And turn un­to the Lord your God,
For He is kind, on mer­cy bent,
Gracious to those that hear His rod,
To an­ger slow, and loath to chide,
But swift to lay His bolt aside.

Who knows but He may now re­turn,
Repent and from His wrath for­bear,
Grieved at the heart for them that mourn,
And van­quish­ed by their hum­ble pray­er,
May for a curse a bless­ing leave,
And eve­ry weep­ing soul for­give?

Blow ye the trum­pet’s loud­est blast,
A shrill alarm in Si­on sound,
Proclaim a soul-af­flict­ing fast,
To all the guil­ty na­tion round:
A so­lemn sad as­sem­bly call,
And let the sum­mons reach to all.

Gather and sanc­ti­fy the crowd,
To de­pre­cate the wrath di­vine,
Bring all in­to the house of God,
The el­ders, and the in­fants join,
The suck­lings place be­neath His eye,
And let your babes for mer­cy cry.

His cham­ber let the bride­groom leave,
The bride out of her clo­set go,
The priests of God la­ment and grieve,
And pros­trate at His al­tar show
By tears and cries the load they bear,
And pray their an­gry God to spare.

With pity, O Thou gra­cious Lord,
Thy poor af­flict­ed peo­ple see,
Nor give us to th’in­vad­er’s sword,
The lit­tle flock re­deemed by Thee,
Nor leave us to their scorn­ful rage,
But spare Thy droop­ing he­rit­age.

Why should the hea­then ali­ens say,
Where is He now, their boast­ed God?
Why should they bear the cru­el sway,
And wash their foot­steps in our blood?
Wilt Thou not, Lord, at last awake,
And save us for Thy Je­sus’ sake?

He will, Je­ho­vah sure­ly will
Be jea­lous for His fa­vo­rite land,
His pi­ty­ing love at last re­veal,
Redeem us by His out­stretched hand,
Answer our pray­er in pow­er and peace,
And fill us with His right­eous­ness.

The Lord shall to His peo­ple say,
“Lo! I again Mine own will feed,
With corn and wine and oil con­vey
Into your souls the liv­ing bread,
Send down My Spir­it from above,
The oil of joy, the wine of love.

Sion, I will no more ex­pose
To hea­thens a re­proach and prey,
But turn Mine hand against your foes,
And drive the ali­en host away,
Satan, and all his pow­ers sub­due,
And slay the sins that wast­ed you.