1 Lord, in this dark, this awful hour,
When nations tremble at Thy power,
We see, we own Thy lifted hand,
Extended o’er our native land.
2 We justly fear Thy wrath should rise,
For oh, our guilt has pierced the skies!
The strength of kingdoms Thou hast broke:
Let not our land feel the stroke.
3 At the loud trumpet’s martial blast,
Ruin has laid creation waste;
And man against his brother steeled,
Strews victims o’er th’empurpled field.
4 While war exhausts the vital flood,
And stains the earth with human blood;
The moon looks down upon the scene,
With placid orb, and ray serene!
5 O bid these vile contentions cease,
And bless the jarring world with peace;
Let earth partake the sweet repose,
That every planet round her knows.
6 Thy hand alone can wrath control,
And soothe to rest the angry soul;
Return, return, O God of love,
And war with all its curse remove.
Source: The Cyber Hymnal #8175
|Instances (1 - 1 of 1)||Title||First Line||Tune||Tune Key||Author||Meter||Scripture||Date||Subject||Source|
|The Cyber Hymnal #8175||Lord, In This Dark, This Awful Hour||Lord, in this dark, this awful hour||ILLA||William B. Collyer||LM||<cite>Hymns Partly Collected and Partly Original</cite> ( London: 1812)|