O King of Saints, with Pitying Eye

O King of saints with pi­ty­ing eye

Thy poor af­flict­ed peo­ple see

Who hold Thy Word

nor dare de­ny

Thy name

though suf­fer­ing loss for Thee.

Exposed to shame

and want

and pain

Crushed by the per­se­cut­or’s pow­er

Thou

Lord

their faint­ing souls sus­tain

And keep them in their try­ing hour.

From an­ger

and con­temp­tu­ous pride

From low re­venge

and faith­less fear

Preserve

and still their spir­its hide

Till Thou in their be­half ap­pear.

Their fee­ble hearts con­firm

unite

And fix on their re­ward ab­ove:

Embolden with Thy Spir­it’s might

And arm them with Thy pa­tient love.

Thee let the wit­ness­es con­fess

Before the re­bel sons of men

Proclaim Thine all vic­tor­ious grace

And suf­fer till with Thee they reign:

To Thee

and to each oth­er cleave

While midst the ra­ven­ing wolves they lie

A pat­tern to be­liev­ers live

A pat­tern to be­liev­ers die!