Lord, pity us; behold the grief
Which we form foes sustain;
Even Thou, who from the gates of death
Wilt raise us up again.
That we, in Sion's daughter's gates,
May all Thy praise advance;
And that we may rejoice always
In Thy deliverance.
For they that needy are, shall not
Forgotten be alway:
The expectation of the poor
Shall not be lost for aye.
Arise, Lord, let not man prevail,
Thy glorious arm unbare;
Teach men to know themselves but flesh
Their sins to them declare.