Old-Line Primitive Baptist Hymn and Tune Book

455 (C.M.) Isaac Watts

Will God forever cast us off?

His wrath forever smoke

Against the people of His love,

His little chosen flock?

Think of the tribes so dearly bought

With their Redeemer's blood;

Nor let Thy Zion be forgot,

Where once Thy glory stood.

Where once Thy churches prayed and sang,

Thy foes profanely rage;

Amid Thy gates their ensigns hang,

And there their hosts engage.

And still, to heighten our distress,

Thy presence is withdrawn;

Thy wonted signs of pow'r and grace,

Thy pow'r and grace are gone.

No prophets speak to calm our grief,

But all in silence mourn;

Nor know the times of our relief,

The hour of Thy return.