Chide America, O Lord no longer,
Nor chasten her in anger.
In Mercy hear her groans,
O Lord do see her languish,
Heal Thou her bitter anguish,
For troubled are her bones.
Her soul is troubled greater’
O hasten Thou to aid her.
Why dost Thou tarry, Lord?
Turn back and show Thy favor;
Her in thy love deliver,
According to Thy Word!
How can the dead adore Thee,
Or bring their thanks before Thee?
Or Praise Thy Holy name?
She’s weary with her moaning
Worn out with constant groaning
And overcome with shame.
All night instead of sleeping,
She drenches her couch with weeping,
With grief her eyes grow weak.
Since foes with hate surround her
And without ceasing hound her
Her ruin they all seek.
Depart from her transgressors,
Flee now, all you oppressors:
The Lord did heed her cry!
He heard her supplication,
Her pleas for consolation
And with His help is nigh.
The Lord heard when she pleaded
And her appeals He heeded
Her foes shall be ashamed,
For sudden fear shall shake them
And panic overtake them
Their doom has He proclaimed.
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