Hymn Of The Waldenses.

Hear, Father, hear thy faint afflicted flock     Cry to thee, from the desert and the rock;     While those, who seek to slay thy children, hold     Blasphemous worship under roofs of gold;     And the broad goodly lands, with pleasant airs     That nurse the grape and wave the grain, are theirs.     Yet better were this mountain wilderness,     And this wild life of danger and distress,     Watchings by night and perilous flight by day,     And meetings in the depths of earth to pray,     Better, far better, than to kneel with them,     And pay the impious rite thy laws condemn.     Thou, Lord, dost hold the thunder; the firm land     Tosses in billows when it feels thy hand;     Thou dashest nation against nation, then     Stillest the angry world to peace again.     Oh, touch their stony hearts who hunt thy sons,     The murderers of our wives and little ones.     Yet, mighty God, yet shall thy frown look forth     Unveiled, and terribly shall shake the earth.     Then the foul power of priestly sin and all     Its long-upheld idolatries shall fall.     Thou shalt raise up the trampled and oppressed,     And thy delivered saints shall dwell in rest.