1 Raise not Thy hand in judgment, Lord,
With us, a guilty race;
Thy needful succor now afford,
And help us in distress.

2 Let not the waterspouts descend,
Nor burst upon our plains;
But in Thy mercy condescend
To stay the sweeping rains.

3 Command the clouded sun to shine,
And shed a constant ray;
Directed by a hand divine,
Our night shall turn to day.

4 Oh let its fructifying beam,
The precious grain mature;
And we Thy goodness will proclaim,
Whose promise shall endure.

5 Wonder and love shall tune our tongues,
For all Thy kindness shown,
While thankful we in joyful songs,
Thy gracious hand will own.