W. H. Bathurst 

O Lord, how long shall heathens hold
The heritage that once was thine?

Psalm lxxix

 

O Lord, how long shall heathens hold
The heritage that once was thine?
How long shall they invade thy fold,
How long pollute thy holy shrine?

Behold the violence, the scorn,
And all the wrongs thy people hear:
Opprest, insulted, and forlorn,
Shall they no more thy favour share?

O let their sins be washed away,
For thy compassion, Lord, is great;
For thy name’s sake, forbear to slay,
And lift them from their low estate.

Let Israel’s captive sons be free;
Restore them, and remove thy rod;
That all the earth thy hand may see,
And, wondering, own thee for their God.

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