Appeal

Oh that Thou mightest rend the skies,
Yea, part the welkin and descend,
While all the mountain summits bend
And melt before Thine awful eyes!

Behold, we are unclean within,
Our righteous deeds are rags and grime;
And like the leaves of winter time
We drive before the storms of sin.

Yea, none invokes Thy mighty name,
Or riseth up to crave thy grace;
And thou hast turned away thy face,
Or answered with consuming flame,

Yet Thou art father of us all,
And rulest man with perfect sway;
Thou art the maker, we the clay,
And thou canst bid us stand or fall.

Remember not our deeds of ill,
And be not angry very sore;
Though justice slay us evermore,
Behold, we are Thy children still.

Our hallowed city is destroyed,
Our fathers' land a desert land;
Yea, Zion's broken turrets stand
In regions desolate and void.

Our beautiful and holy fane,
Where Judah worshipped thee of old,
We saw its golden cloisters rolled
In flamings, while we wept in vain.

Wilt Thou forget our many tears?
Wilt Thou forego Thy chastenings?
Return, O Lord, on mercy's wings,
And bring again the gracious years!