The Mighty Hand of God

God of our spirits, Despot great,
Upholder of all things that are,
Who erst the atom did create,
As well as sun and moon and star.
Indifferent Thou canst not be
To griefs which cause the brain to reel;
Thou who hast made the eye must see,
Thou who hast made the heart must feel
The sorrows and the sighs of souls
Bereaved of brothers, husbands, sons,
For whom no bell funebral tolls
Amid the grime and growl of guns.
Thou wilt not scorn: this well we know,
For we have seen Thy heart laid bare,
When Golgotha was gloomed with woe,
And Christ for us was stricken there.
The groaning of the prisoner,
Who friendless would be friends with death;
The wounded mortals plaintive prayer
Poured forth upon his latest breath.
Ascend to heaven Thy dwelling-place,
For Thou art infinitely good,
Preserver of the human race
In Thy compassions multitude.
Though now upon the nations who
The name of Thy Beloved bear
Thy hand lies heavy, yet most true
Thou art in judging everywhere.
Lord God of Hosts, who hast control
Of armies numberless and strong,
Who mad’st us this immortal soul
That can inflict and suffer wrong;
That loves, that hates, that wounds, that kills,
But cannot bring again from death,
Subdue our wayward stubborn wills,
Thou who hast given us life and breath.
By sword and spear, by fire and flame,
Thou pleadest with the nations all,
Oh, give us grace to see our shame
And at Thy footstool low to fall;
And make that Name so long despised
By princes, peoples, small and great
To those whom Thou hast sore chastised
A glorious Name, and peace create,