Lord, in This Dark, This Awful Hour

Lord

in this dark

this aw­ful hour

When na­tions trem­ble at Thy pow­er

We see

we own Thy lift­ed hand

Extended o’er our na­tive land.

We just­ly fear Thy wrath should rise

For oh

our guilt has pierced the skies!

The strength of king­doms Thou hast broke:

O spare our na­tive land the stroke.

At the loud trum­pet’s mar­tial blast

Ruin has laid cre­ation waste;

And man against his bro­ther steeled

Strews vic­tims o’er th’em­pur­pled field.

While war ex­hausts the vi­tal flood

And stains the earth with hu­man blood;

The moon looks down up­on the scene

With pla­cid orb

and ray se­rene!

O bid these vile con­ten­tions cease

And bless the jar­ring world with peace;

Let earth par­take the sweet re­pose

That ev­ery plan­et round her knows.

Thy hand alone can wrath con­trol

And soothe to rest the an­gry soul;

Return

re­turn

O God of love

And war with all its curse re­move.