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
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Charles Wesley (1707-1788)

From Hymns for Times of Trouble and Persecution, by John and Charles Wesley, second edition, enlarged (London: Strahan, 1744), pages 63-65. This source does not give the author’s name, but it seems likely the hymn is by Charles Wesley.

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

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W. Howard Doane (1832-1915)

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.