Thou mover of the rolling spheres,
I, through the glasses of my tears,
To thee my eyes erect.
As servants mark their master's hands,
As maids their mistress's commands,
And liberty expect,
So we, depressed by enemies
And growing troubles, fix our eyes
On God, who sits on high;
Till he in mercy shall descend,
To give our miseries an end,
And turn our tears to joy.
O save us, Lord, by all forlorn,
The subject of contempt and scorn:
Defend us from their pride
Who live in fluency and ease,
Who with our woes their malice please,
And miseries deride.
Bless the Lord. His praise be sung
While an ear can hear a tongue.
He our feet establisheth;
He our souls redeems from death.
Lord, as silver purified,
Thou hast with affliction tried,
Thou hast driven into the net,
Burdens on our shoulders set.
Trod on by their horses' hooves,
Theirs whom pity never moves,
We through fire, with flames embraced,
We through raging floods have passed,
Yet by thy conducting hand,
Brought into a wealthy land.