Classic Poem

No more, O God! we read thy ways,
In these degen'rate evil days;
The vile oppressor, sword in hand,
Usurps the sway of all the land.

No more we feel that aid is nigh,
When faint, our hearts within us die;
We suffer, and we know, our doom
Is one long suff'ring till the tomb.

Yet by the anguish of thy Son,
When his last hour came darkly on;
By his dread cry, the air that rent,
In terror of abandonment;

And by his parting word, which rose,
Through faith, victorious o'er his foes,—
We know that thou may'st wound, may'st break
The spirit, but wilt ne'er forsake.