Let the land mourn through all its coasts,
The king lay by his state;
Princes and rulers, at their posts,
Awhile sit desolate.
Let priests and people, high and low,
Rich, poor, and great, and small,
Invoke, in fellowship of woe,
The Maker of them all.
For God hath summon'd from his place
Death, in a direr form,
To waken, warn, and scourge our race,
Than earthquake, fire, or storm.
Let Churches weep within their pale,
And families apart;
Let each in secresy bewail
The plague of his own heart.
So, while the land bemoans its sin,
The pestilence may cease,
And mercy, tempering wrath, bring in
Not health alone, but peace:--
The peace of God, which passeth thought,
Keep every heart and mind,
Till all, by this affliction taught,
Be to His will resign'd.
Sacred Poems and Hymns