Wherefore He Now in Mercy Cries

Wherefore He now in mer­cy cries

With all your heart

ye sin­ners turn

To Me

be­fore My wrath arise

To Me con­fess your sins and mourn;

Chasten your souls with fast sev­ere

And trem­ble at My judg­ments near.

Your hearts

and not your gar­ments rent

And turn un­to the Lord your God

For He is kind

on mer­cy bent

Gracious to those that hear His rod

To an­ger slow

and loath to chide

But swift to lay His bolt aside.

Who knows but He may now re­turn

Repent and from His wrath for­bear

Grieved at the heart for them that mourn

And van­quish­ed by their hum­ble pray­er

May for a curse a bless­ing leave

And eve­ry weep­ing soul for­give?

Blow ye the trum­pet’s loud­est blast

A shrill alarm in Si­on sound

Proclaim a soul-af­flict­ing fast

To all the guil­ty na­tion round:

A so­lemn sad as­sem­bly call

And let the sum­mons reach to all.

Gather and sanc­ti­fy the crowd

To de­pre­cate the wrath di­vine

Bring all in­to the house of God

The el­ders

and the in­fants join

The suck­lings place be­neath His eye

And let your babes for mer­cy cry.

His cham­ber let the bride­groom leave

The bride out of her clo­set go

The priests of God la­ment and grieve

And pros­trate at His al­tar show

By tears and cries the load they bear

And pray their an­gry God to spare.

With pity

O Thou gra­cious Lord

Thy poor af­flict­ed peo­ple see

Nor give us to th’in­vad­er’s sword

The lit­tle flock re­deemed by Thee

Nor leave us to their scorn­ful rage

But spare Thy droop­ing her­it­age.

Why should the hea­then ali­ens say

Where is He now

their boast­ed God?

Why should they bear the cru­el sway

And wash their foot­steps in our blood?

Wilt Thou not

Lord

at last awake

And save us for Thy Je­sus’ sake?

He will

Je­ho­vah sure­ly will

Be jea­lous for His fa­vo­rite land

His pi­ty­ing love at last re­veal

Redeem us by His out­stretched hand

Answer our pray­er in pow­er and peace

And fill us with His right­eous­ness.

The Lord shall to His peo­ple say

“Lo! I again Mine own will feed

With corn and wine and oil con­vey

Into your souls the liv­ing bread

Send down My Spir­it from ab­ove

The oil of joy

the wine of love.

Sion

I will no more ex­pose

To hea­thens a re­proach and prey

But turn Mine hand against your foes

And drive the ali­en host away

Satan

and all his pow­ers sub­due

And slay the sins that wast­ed you.