Unto Thy Zion Lord Return


Unto thy Zion, Lord, return,
And pardon all her crimes:
Well we deserve to weep and mourn,
In these distressing times.

Lord, hast thou bid thy gracious face
From thy dear church below,
Who is an object of disgrace,
Deserving to be so.

We are like as the parched lands,
And as the barren field:
Where all the force of lab’ring hands
but thorns and briers yield.

Thy gospel word is much despis’d,
And held in mere disdain;
The world and Satan have devis’d,
To make thy gospel vain.

How few and feeble are thy saints,
How full of doubts and fears!
The world our best devotion taints,
And mingles with our pray’rs.

And when we join to sing and pray,
And wait on thee our Lord;
Then Satan draws our minds away,
When we should hear thy word.

Return dear Lord, with mighty pow’r,
Thy gospel work revive;
Thy dying church to life restore,
In thee to grow and thrive.