And all our trembling lips would tell;
Thou only canst assuage our grief,
And yield our woe-fraught hearts relief.
“Though we have sinned, and justly dread
The vengeance hovering o’er our head,
Yet, Power benign! Thy servant spare,
Nor turn aside Thy people’s prayer.
“Avert the swift-descending stroke,
Nor smite the shepherd of the flock;
Lest o’er the barren waste we stray,