Classic Poem

Humbly before thy throne, good Lord!
While for ourselves we plead,
Let us, according to thy word,
For others intercede.

Hast thou not witness'd, from on high,
A sore afflicted race?
Hast thou not heard their piercing cry,
And wilt thou hide thy face?

And wilt thou turn thine ear away?
How long, O Lord! how long,
Shall weakness lie to pow'r a prey,
And right be rul'd by wrong?

Is there no mercy for the slave?
None, with the tyrant none!—
Then stretch thine own right hand to save;
Speak,—and it shall be done.

Not with the judgments of thy rod,
As Pharaoh was laid low,
Rather like Cyrus mov'd by God,
To let the people go:

May those, who now thy poor oppress,
Be inly stirr'd by thee,
To loose the bands of wickedness,
And set the captive free.