1 Dear Lord! behold our sore distress,
Our sins attempt to reign;
Stretch out thine arm of conq'ring grace,
And let thy foes be slain.

2 [The lion with his dreadful roar
Affrights thy feeble sheep:
Reveal the glory of thy pow'r,
And chain him to the deep.

3 Must we indulge a long despair?
Shall our petitions die?
Our mournings never reach thine ear,
Nor tears affect thine eye?]

4 If thou despise a mortal groan,
Yet hear a Saviour's blood;
An advocate so near the throne,
Pleads and prevails with God.

5 He brought the spirit's pow'rful sword
To slay our deadly foes;
Our sins shall die beneath thy word,
And hell in vain oppose.

6 How boundless is our Father's grace,
In height, and depth, and length!
He makes his Son our righteousness,
His spirit is our strength.