1 To thee, O Lord, I raise my cries;
My fervent prayer in mercy hear;
For ruin waits my trembling soul,
If thou refuse a gracious ear.
2 When suppliant tow'rd thy holy hill,
I left my mournful hands to pray,
Afford thy grace, nor drive me still,
With impious hypocrites away.
3 To sons of falsehood, that despise
The works and wonders of thy reign,
Thy vengeance gives the due reward,
And sinks their souls to endless pain.
4 But ever blessed by the Lord,
Whose mercy hears my mournful voice,
My heart, that trusted in his word,
In his salvation shall rejoice.
5 Let every saint, in sore distress,
By faith approach his Saviour God;
Then grant, O Lord, thy pard'ning grace,
And feed thy church with heavenly food.
Text Information | |
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First Line: | To thee, O Lord, I raise my cries |
Title: | God the refuge of the afflicted |
Meter: | Long Metre |
Language: | English |
Publication Date: | 1791 |
Scripture: |