Classic Poem

Lord! before thy throne we bend,
Lord! to thee our hearts ascend;
Servants, to our master true,
Lo! we yield thee homage due;
Children, to our sire we fly,
Abba, Father! hear our cry.

In the dust our knees we bow,
We are weak, but mighty thou;
Sore oppress'd, yet suppliant still,
We await thy holy will:
Galling chains confine us here,
When wilt thou, O God! appear?

From the skies, thy dwelling-place,
Send, Oh! send deliv'ring grace;
Turn and save us; — none below
Pause to hear our silent woe;
Pleas'd or sad, a thoughtless throng —
Still they gaze, and pass along.

Leave us not — ah! wretched fate! —
In this helpless, hopeless state;
Swift to seal their captive's doom,
See our foes exulting come!
Jesus, Savior! yet be nigh —
Lord of life! nor let us die.