1 O God! look down from heav'n and see
A sight that well may move Thee!
Thy saints, how few! How wretchedly
Forsaken we who love Thee!
Thy Word no more shall have its right:
And faith itself is vanished quite
From all this generation.
2 Fictions the teach with cunning art,
And lies of man's invention;
Not 'stablished in God's Word, their heart
Is full of strange dissension;
One chooses this, another that,
And while divisions they create,
They can't of love union.
3 May God root out all heresy
And of false teachers rid us,
Who proudly say: "And who is he
That shall our speech forbid us?
We have the might and right alone,
And what we say must stand; we own
None as our lord and master."
4 Wherefore, saith God, I will arise!
My poor they are oppressing;
I hear their crying and their sighs,
Their wrongs shall have redressing;
My Word, endued with saving might,
Shall suddenly the wicked smite,
And be my poor ones' comfort.
5 As silver sev'n times furnace-tried,
Is found for it the purer,
So ditch the Word, whate're betide,
But prove itself the surer;
The cross reveals its worth aright,
'Tis then we see its strength and light
Shine far in earth's dar places.
6 O God, keep Thou it pure and free
From this vile generation,
And let us too be kept by Thee
From their abomination;
The wicked walk about in ease,
When loose, ungodly men like these
Are in the land exalted.
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