Isaac Watts Poems

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The folly of persecutors.

Are sinners now so senseless grown
That they the saints devour?
And never worship at thy throne,
Nor fear thine awful power?

Great God! appear to their surprise;
Reveal thy dreadful name;
Let them no more thy wrath despise,
Nor turn our hope to shame.

Dost thou not dwell among the just?
And yet our foes deride,
That we should make thy name our trust;
Great God! confound their pride.

O that the joyful day were come
To finish our distress!
When God shall bring his children home
Our songs shall never cease.

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