O Lord, help me, Lord, and let thy pity
my saints by them forsaken.
True faith seems quenched on every end.
Men suffer not thy word to stand.
Dark times have us all taken.
With thought which may themselves invent, Thy truth they have confounded.
Their hearts are not with one consent, On thy pure doctrine grounded.
While they parade without word show, They lay the people to and fro,
In error's place astounded.
May God root out all heresy, And the false teachers rid us, Who proudly say,
Now where is he That shall our speech forbade us?
By right or might we shall prevail, What we determine cannot fail,
We own no lord and master.
Therefore, safeguard, I must arise, The poor my help are needing, To be ascend
by people's cries, And I have heard their bleeding.
For them my saving word shall fight, And fearlessly and sharply smite,
The poor with my defending.
And silver-tide my power is poor, From all adulteration.
So through God's word shall men endure, Each trial and temptation.
His light beams brighter through the cross, And to revive from human flaws.
It shines through every nation.
Defend thy truth, O God, and stay, This evil generation.
And from the error of its way, Keep thine own congregation.
The wicked everywhere abound, And poor, thy little flock confound, But thou art
our salvation.