To thee, O Lord, I raise my cries;
My fervent pray’r in mercy hear;
For ruin waits my trembling soul,
If thou refuse a gracious ear.

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.

To sons of falsehood, that despise
The works and wonders of thy reign,
Thy vengeance give the due reward,
And sinks their souls to endless pain.

But, ever blessed by the Lord,
Whose mercy hears my mournful voice,
My heart, that trusted in his word,
In his salvation shall rejoice.

Let ev’ry saint, in sore distress,
By faith approach his Saviour, God:
Then grant, O Lord, thy pard’ning grace,
And feed thy church with heav’nly food.