Classic Poem

Haste, haste to do me right,
And give my suff'rings ease,
Lord Jesus, speed thy flight
To David on his knees.

Let all this bloody chace
In shame and sorrow cease,
And grant the traitors grace
That plot against my peace.

With speed their spirits break
To heart-afflicting sighs,
That thus insult the meek,
“There, there the grov'ler lies.”

But endless joy reward
The saints of Christ the king,
And all that love the Lord
Their hallelujah sing.

The pangs of pinching need
My pow'r of patience tire;
Redouble, Lord, thy speed,
And aid me to respire.

Thou art, O Christ, alone
My Saviour, God, and friend,
No longer then postpone,
But on my pray'rs attend.