1 Look down, O Lord, with pitying eye;
See Adam's race in ruin lie;
Sin spreads its trophies o'er the ground,
And scatters slaughter'd heaps around.
2 And can these mouldering corpses live?
And can these perish'd bones revive?
That, mighty God, to thee is known;
That wondrous work is all thy own.
3 Thy ministers are sent in vain
To prophesy upon the slain;
In vain they call, in vain they cry,
Till thine almighty aid is nigh.
4 But if thy Spirit deign to breathe,
Life spreads thro' all the realms of death:
Dry bones obey thy powerful voice;
They move, they waken, they rejoice:
5 So when thy trumpet's awful sound
Shall shake the heavens and rend the ground,
Dead saints shall from their tombs arise,
And spring to life beyond the skies.
Text Information | |
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First Line: | Look down, O Lord, with pitying eye |
Meter: | L. M. |
Language: | English |
Publication Date: | 1825 |
Scripture: |