Now by the bowels of my God,

His sharp distress, his sore complaints,

By his last groans, his dying blood,

I charge my soul to love the saints.

Clamor, and wrath, and war, begone,

Envy and spite, for ever cease;

Let bitter words no more be known

Amongst the saints, the sons of peace.

The Spirit, like a peaceful dove,

Flies from the realms of noise and strife:

Why should we vex and grieve his love

Who seals our souls to heav'nly life?

Tender and kind be all our thoughts,

Through all our lives let mercy run;

So God forgives our num'rous faults,

For the dear sake of Christ his Son.