English poem
Pause
by Isaac Watts (1674–1748)
The wicked shall sink down to hell; Thy wrath devour the lands That dare forget thee, or rebel Against thy known commands.
Tho' saints to sore distress are brought, And wait and long complain, Their cries shall not be still forgot, Nor shall their hopes be vain.
[Rise, great Redeemer, from thy seat, To judge and save the poor; Let nations tremble at thy feet, And man prevail no more.
Thy thunder shall affright the proud, And put their hearts to pain, Make them confess that thou art God, And they but feeble men.]
Psalm 10. Prayer heard, and saints saved; or, Pride, atheism, and oppression punished.
For a humiliation day.
Why doth the Lord stand off so far, And why conceal his face, When great calamities appear, And times of deep distress?
Lord, shall the wicked still deride Thy justice and thy pow'r? Shall they advance their heads in pride, And still thy saints devour?
They put thy judgments from their sight, And then insult the poor; They boast in their exalted height That they shall fall no more.
Arise, O God, lift up thine hand, Attend our humble cry; No enemy shall dare to stand When God ascends on high.