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But thou hast cast us off, and now
most shamefully we yield;
For thou no more vouchsaf'st to lead
our armies to the field.
Since when, to ev'ry upstart foe
we turn our backs in fight;
And with our spoil their malice feast,
who bear us ancient spite.
To slaughter doomed, we fall, like sheep,
into their buteh'ring hands!
Or (what's more wretched yet) survive,
dispersed through heathen lands.
Thy people thou hast sold for slaves,
and set their price so low,
That not thy treasure by the sale,
but their disgrace might grow.
Reproached by all the nations round,
the heathen's byword grown,
Whose scorn of us is both in speech
and mocking gestures shown.
Confusion strikes me blind, my face
in conscious shame I hide,
While we are scoffed, and God blasphemed,
by their licentious pride.
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marker 99
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LYRICS
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Meter:
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8 6 8 6 (C.M.)
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Writer(s):
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Trans/Adapted:
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Dates:
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1696
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Bible Refs:
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Ps 44:9-16;
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LIST OF LYRIC SOURCES
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Hymn/Song Book
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Year
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Song #
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| 1821 | # 44 |
echo ' | ';
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Hymn Writer
