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Ash Wednesday.

Gather the people . . and let the priests, the ministers of the Lord, weep between the porch and the alter, and let them say, Spare Thy people, O Lord.

From the Passage for the Epistle. [Joel 2:17]


Straf mich nicht in deinem Zorn

Albinus. 1652.

trans. by Catherine Winkworth, 1855

Not in anger smite us, Lord,

Spare Thy people, spare!

If Thou mete us due reward

We must all despair.

Let the flood

Of Jesus' blood

Quench the flaming of Thy wrath,

That our sin enkindled hath.

Father! Thou hast patience long

With the sick and weak;

Heal us, make us brave and strong,

Words of comfort speak.

Touch my soul,

And make me whole

With Thy healing precious balm;

Ward off all would bring me harm.

Weary am I, Lord, and worn

With my ceaseless pain;

Sad the heart that night and morn

Sighs for help in vain.

Wilt Thou yet

My soul forget,

Waiting anxiously for Thee

In the cave of misery?


Hence, ye foes! God hears my prayer

From His holy place;

Once again with hope I dare

Come before His face.

Satan flee,

Hell touch not me;

God hath given me power o'er all,

Who once mocked and sought my fall.

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