Words: Isaac Watts
Complaint of quarrelsome neighbors ; or, a devout wish for peace.
1 Thou God of love, thou ever-blessèd, Pity my suff'ring state; When wilt thou set my soul at rest From lips that love deceit?
2 Hard lot of mine! my days are cast Among the sons of strife, Whose never-ceasing brawlings waste My golden hours of life.
3 O might I fly to change my place, How would I choose to dwell In some wide lonesome wilderness, And leave these gates of hell!
4 Peace is the blessing that I seek, How lovely are its charms! I am for peace; but when I speak, They all declare for arms.
5 New passions still their souls engage, And keep their malice strong: What shall be done to curb thy rage, O thou devouring tongue!
6 Should burning arrows smite thee through Strict justice would approve; But I had rather spare my foe, And melt his heart with love.