Arise, O Lord, with Healing Rod

Arise

O Lord

with heal­ing rod

Lift up Thine hand and save

O God;

Arise to help the meek: for why

Should im­pi­ous tongues Thy name de­fy?

Aloud they boast

Our acts are free;

God hides His face

God will not see;

But Thou hast seen: Thy pierc­ing ray

Through sin’s dark wind­ings flash­es day.

Recorded by Thy right­eous hand

The sin­ner’s deeds for judg­ment stand:

To Thee the poor com­mits his cause

His help from Thee the friend­less draws.

Quell Thou the scorn­ful arm

and beat

The proud op­press­or from his seat:

Proclaim—The reign of sin is o’er

The place that knew it knows no more.

O Lord the King of bound­less might

The wick­ed per­ish from Thy sight:

’Tis Thine the droop­ing heart to cheer

The cries of pray­ing saints to hear.

The or­phan’s in­jured cause to try

And

in Thy peo­ple’s per­il nigh

To snatch them from the spoil­er’s rage

And guard their right­ful her­it­age.