Send help, O Lord, we pray

Verse 1

Send help, O Lord, we pray, And thy own gospel bless; For godly men decay, And faithful pastors cease; The righteous are removèd home, And scorners rise up in their room.

Verse 2

While Satan’s troops are bold, And thrive in number too, The flocks in Jesus’ fold, Are growing lank and few; Old sheep are moving off each year, And few lambs in the fold appear.

Verse 3

Old shepherds, too, retire, Who gathered flocks below, And young ones catch no fire, Or worldly-prudent grow; Few run with trumpets in their hand, To sound alarms by sea and land.

Verse 4

O Lord, stir up thy power, To make the gospel spread; And thrust out preachers more, With voice to raise the dead; With feet to run where thou dost call; With faith to fight and conquer all.

Verse 5

The flocks that long have dwelt Around fair Zion’s hill, And thy sweet grace have felt, Uphold and feed them still; But fresh folds build up everywhere, And plenteously thy truth declare.

Verse 6

As one Elijah dies, True prophet of the Lord, Let some Elisha rise To blaze the gospel-word; And fast as sheep to Jesus go, May lambs recruit his fold below.