|
|
| |
|
When he inquiry makes for blood,
he calls the poor to mind;
The injured humble man's complaint
relief from him shall find,
Take pity on my troubles, Lord,
Which spiteful foes create,
Thou, that hast rescued me so oft
from death's devouring gate.
In Zion then I'll sing thy praise,
to all that love thy name;
And with loud shouts of grateful joy
thy saving pow'r proclaim,
Deep in the pit they digged for me
the heathen pride is laid;
Their guilty feet to their own snare
insensibly betrayed.
Thus, by the just returns he makes,
the mighty Lord is known;
While wicked men by their own plots
are shamefully o'erthrown.
No single sinner shall escape
by privacy obscured;
Nor nation from his just revenge
by numbers be secured.
His suff'ring saints, when most distressed,
he ne'er forgets to aid;
their expectation shall be crowned,
though for a time delayed.
Arise, O Lord, assert thy pow'r,
and let not man o'ercome;
Descend to judgment, and pronounce
the guilty heathen's doom.
Strike terror through the nations round,
till, by consenting fear
They to each other, and themselves,
but mortal men appear.
|
marker 99
|
LYRICS
|
Meter:
|
8 6 8 6 (C.M.)
|
|
Writer(s):
|
|
|
Trans/Adapted:
|
| |
Dates:
|
|
|
Bible Refs:
|
Ps 9:12-20;
|
LIST OF LYRIC SOURCES
|
Hymn/Song Book
|
Year
|
Song #
|
| 1821 | # 9 |
echo ' | ';
|
Hymn Writer
