With one consent we meekly bow beneath Thy chastening hand,
And, pouring forth confession meet, mourn with our mourning land;
With pitying eye behold our need, as thus we lift our prayer,
"Correct us with Thy judgments, Lord, then let Thy mercy spare."
GREAT God, to Thee our song we raise,
To Thee devote our grateful praise;
O never may our footsteps rove
From Thee, the source of truth and love;
But may we still Thy praise proclaim,
And joy in our Redeemer's Name.
What though the fig-tree shall decay,
Fruitless the vine shall waste away;
Although the olive shall not bear,
Nor corn produce the ripen'd ear;
Yet still may we Thy praise proclaim,
And joy in our Redeemer's Name.
Though in our folds no flocks abound,
And in our stalls no herd be found,
Though all the hopes of plenty fail,
Though blighting pestilence prevail;
Yet may we still Thy praise proclaim,
And joy in our Redeemer's Name.
DREAD Jehovah, God of nations,
From Thy temple in the skies
Hear Thy people's supplications,
Now for their deliverance rise.
Lo! with deep contrition turning,
Humbly at Thy feet we bend;
Hear us, fasting, praying, mourning,
Hear us, spare us, and defend.
Though our sins, our hearts confounding,
Long and loud for vengeance call,
jol Thou hast mercy more abounding,
JESUS' blood can cleanse from all.
Let that love veil our transgression,
Let that blood our guilt efface;
Save Thy people from oppression,
Save from spoil Thy holy place.
GOD of our life! to Thee we call;
Afflicted at Thy feet we fall;
When the great water-floods prevail,
Leave not our trembling hearts to fail.
Friend of the friendless and the faint,
Where should we lodge our deep complaint?
Where, but with Thee, whose open door
Invites the helpless and the poor?
Then hear, O Lord! our humble cry,
And bend on us Thy pitying eye.
To Thee their prayer Thy people make;
Hear us, for our Redeemer's sake!
THE billows swell, the winds are high,
Clouds overcast the wintry sky;
Out of the depths to Thee we call;
Our fears are great, our strength is small.
O Lord, the pilot's part perform,
And guide and guard us through the storm,
Defend us from each threatening ill,
Control the waves, say, Peace, be still!
Amidst the roaring of the sea,
Our souls still hang their hope on Thee;
Thy constant love and faithful care
Support, and save us from despair.
O GOD, that madest earth and sky,
The darkness and the day,
Give ear to this Thy family,.
And help us, when we pray!
The cross our Master bore for us,
For Him we fain would bear;
But mortal strength to weakness turns,
And courage to despair.
Then mercy on our failings, Lord!
Our sinking faith renew,
And when Thy sorrows visit us,
O send Thy patience too!
ALMIGHTY LORD, before Thy throne
Thy mourning people bend;
And on Thy pardoning grace alone
Our humble hopes depend.
Dark judgments from Thy heavy hand
Thy dreadful power display;
Yet mercy spares our guilty land,
And still we live to pray.
O turn us, turn us, mighty Lord,
Convert us by Thy grace;
Then shall our hearts obey Thy Word,
And humbly seek Thy face.
Then should disease or foes invade,
We shall not sink in fear;
Secure of never-failing aid,
If God, our God, be near.
THERE is a fountain fill'd with blood
Drawn from Emmanuel's veins;
And sinners plunged beneath that flood
Lose all their guilty stains.
Dear dying Lamb, Thy precious blood
Shall never lose its power,
Till all the ransom'd church of God
Be saved, to sin no more.
Lord, I believe Thou hast prepared
(Unworthy though I be)
For me a blood-bought, free reward,
A golden harp for me!
'Tis strung and tuned for endless years,
And form'd by power divine,
To sound, in God the Father's ears,
No other Name but Thine,
LORD, of Thy mercy hear our cry
For this long-favour'd land;
That now, as in the days gone by,
Her strength may be Thy hand.
May she her holy lot fulfil,
Earth's sanctuary to be;
And stand amid the nations still,
A witness true to Thee.
And when the last dread trumpet's sound
Upon her ear shall ring,
Grant that her children may be found
Prepared to meet their King!
PRAISE to God, immortal praise
For the love that crowns our days;
Bounteous source of every joy,
Let Thy praise our tongues employ:
All to Thee, our God, we owe,
Source whence all our blessings flow.
All the blessings of the fields,
All the stores the garden yields,
Flocks that whiten all the plain,
Yellow sheaves of ripen'd grain:
Lord, for these our souls shall raise
Grateful vows and solemn praise.
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