Our Nation Seemed to Ruin Doomed

Our na­tion seemed to ru­in doomed

Just like a burn­ing brand;

Till snatched from fierce sur­round­ing flames

By God’s in­dul­gent hand.

Once more

He says

I will sup­press

The wrath that sin would wake

Once more My pa­tience shall at­tend

And call this na­tion back.

But who this cle­men­cy rev­eres?

Or feels this melt­ing grace?

Who stirs his lang­uid spirit up

To seek Thine aw­ful face?

On days like these we pour our cries

And at Thy feet we mourn;

Then rise to tempt Thy wrath again

And to our sins re­turn.

Our na­tion far from God remains

Far

as in dist­ant years;

And that small rem­nant which is left

A dy­ing as­pect wears.

Now chast­ened

res­cued thus in vain

Thy righ­teous hand severe

Into the flames might hurl us back

And quite con­sume us there.

So by the light our burn­ing gives

Might neigh­bor­ing na­tions read.

How ter­ri­ble Thy judg­ments are

And learn our guilt to dread.

Yet

’midst the cry of sins like ours

Incline Thy gra­cious ear;

And Thine own child­ren’s fee­ble cry

With soft com­pass­ion hear.

O by Thy sacr­ed Spir­it’s breath

Ignite a ho­ly flame;

Refine the land that Thou has spared

And mag­ni­fy Thy name.

Yet

’midst the cry of sins like ours

Incline Thy gra­cious ear;

And Thine own child­ren’s fee­ble cry

With soft com­pass­ion hear.

O by Thy sacr­ed Spir­it’s breath

Ignite a ho­ly flame;

Refine the land that Thou has spared

And mag­ni­fy Thy name.

O by Thy sacr­ed Spir­it’s breath

Ignite a ho­ly flame;

Refine the land that Thou has spared

And mag­ni­fy Thy name.