Hymn LXXIII. A Lamentation in time of War.
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War, is the last and worst of those Temporall-Plagues,
whereby God scourgeth a wicked
Nation, and it includeth all other miseries. Therefore,
when that Iudgement is sent forth against us,
we are warned hereby, so to consider what is fallen
upon us; and to become so penitent, that God may
be intreated to withdraw that Plague.
Sing this as the 51. Psalme.
[1]
Of all those Judgements which thy Word,
For Sin, oh Lord! denounced hath,
None are more dreadfull then the Sword;
Or, more inform us of thy wrath.
Except it be, when men are, quite,
To Sin, without Correction left;
Expos'd to Sathans worst despight;
Or, of a quiet minde bereft.
2
For, when by other plagues we smart,
By thine own hand, chastiz'd we be:
And, Lord! so pitifull thou art,
That, Mercy, still abounds in thee.
But, when our Faults thou dost correct,
By tyranous and cruell men,
A sad event, we may expect;
And, hope for little Mercy, then.
3
Oh God! this dreadfull Plague of War,
All other earthly Plagues includes:
For Dearths, and all Diseases are
Attending where this Feind intrudes,
Oppressions, and continuall Fears,
Wounds, Watchings, Dangers, and unrest,
Incessant Griefs, and endlesse cares,
By warfare, Kingdomes do molest.
4
War, from the Childe, his Parents takes;
And robs the Father of his Childe:
Of old, and young, it havoke makes;
And, thereby Matrons are defilde.
War turns, the Freeman to a Slave:
It bringeth Nobles to distresse:
And maketh Cutthroat villains brave,
With what great Princes did possesse.
5
It goodly Temples overturns;
And Acteth Ill, where Good was taught.
The fairest Buildings, down it burns;
And, sets both God, and Man at naught.
Yea, quite it ruins in one day,
What many Ages could not rear;
And bringeth Cities to decay,
Which through the World, renowned were.
6
Chase thou oh Lord! this Tyrant hence:
Permit thou not, his hand of Blood,
To beare the Scourge of our offence;
But, take it to thy Self, oh God!
Though many wayes, we have misdone,
We none have wrong'd, so much as Thee:
Therefore, oh Lord! by Thee alone,
Corrected for it, let us be.
7
When but the sounds of War, they hear,
The hearts of many, so are strook,
That they are overcome with Fear.
How, then, Wars presence can they brook?
Lord, let thy mercy so provide
That, from our Coasts he may be chas'd:
That, Peace may in our Borders bide;
And, keep our Dwellings undefac'd.
8
And, Lord! since War, such Terrors brings;
Such mischieves, and so much distresse;
And since perpetually there Springs,
Joy, wealth, and ease, from blessed Peace,
Let us endeavour to regain
This Peace, by what good means we may,
And if the same we reobtain
Take heed, we fool it not away.
