Let the land mourn through all its coasts!

And humble all its state;

Princes and rulers, at their posts,

Awhile sit desolate.

2 Let all the people, high and low,

Rich, poor, and great and small,

Invoke, in fellowship of woe,

The Maker of them all.

3 For God hath summoned from his place,

Death, in a direr form,

To waken, warn, and scourge our race,

Than earthquakes, fire, or storm.

4 Let churches weep within their pale,

And families apart;

Let each in secresy bewail

The plague of his own heart.

5 So while the land bemoans its sin,

The pestilence may cease,

And mercy, tempering wrath, bring in

God’s blesséd health and peace.