O God, who hast our troops dispersed

Verse 1

O God, who hast our troops dispers'd, Forsaking those who left thee first; As we thy just displeasure mourn, To us in mercy, Lord, return.

Verse 2

Our strength, that firm as earth did stand, Is rent by thy avenging hand: O! heal the breaches thou hast made; We shake, we fall, without thy aid!

Verse 3

Our folly's sad effects we feel; For, drunk with discord's cup, we reel: But now for them, who thee revere'd, Thou hast thy truth's bright banner rear'd.

Verse 4

Let thy right hand thy saints protect; Lord, hear the pray'rs, that we direct; The holy God has spoke; and I, O'er joy'd, on his firm word rely.

Verse 5

To thee in portions I'll divide Fair Sichems soil, Samaria's pride: To Sichem, Succoth next I'll join, And measure out her vale by line.

Verse 6

Manasseh, Gilead, both subscribe To my commands, with Ephraim's tribe; Ephraim by arms supports my cause, And Judah by religious laws.

Verse 7

Moab my slave and drudge shall be, Nor Edom from my yoke get free; Proud Palestine's imperious state Shall humbly on our triumph wait.

Verse 8

But who shall quell these mighty pow'rs, And clear my way to Edom's tow'rs? Or through her guarded frontiers tread The path that does to conquest lead?

Verse 9

E'en thou, O God, who hast disperst Our troops (for we forsook Thee first); Those whom thou didst om wrath forsake, Atton'd, thou wilt victorious make.

Verse 10

Lord thou hast scourg'd our guilty land, Behold thy people mourn; Shall veng'ance ever guide thy hand? And mercy ne'er return?

Verse 11

Beneath the terrors of thine eye, Earth's haughty towers decay; Thy frowning mantle spreads the sky, And mortals melt away.

Verse 12

Our Sion trembles at thy stroke, And dreads thy lifted hand! Oh, heal the people thou hast broke, And save the sinking land.

Verse 13

Exalt thy banner in the field, For those that fear thy name; From barb'rous hosts our nation shield, And put our foes to shame.

Verse 14

Attend our armies to the fight, And be their guardian God; In vain shall num'rous pow'rs unite, Against thy lifted rod.

Verse 15

Our troops beneath thy guiding hand, Shall gain a glad renown: 'Tis God who makes the feeble stand, And treads the mighty down.