O tempest tossed and ever unconsoled!
O exiled lamb, restless, wandering sheep,
Crushed in lands of nations wicked and bold,
And sitting alone there – how bitter, your weep!
O arise! arise! dry each tear soaked cheek
And don holy clothes of splendid glory!
Behold! the Lord does glorify the meek
In salvation! And far fled are trial and worry.
For you have drank enough of bitter bane,
And sat too long suffering by my word,
Far too long through violent storm and rain;
And I too long have watched. Anon! the Lord
Does move His Will from fury fast to meet
His long afflicted nation with comfort sweet.