Verse 1
Away ye wrathful Passions! hence
To Souls, which have not Jesus known,
The Rage Canine, th’ Indignant Sense,
That tears the Dart, and bites the Stone,
To Pagans and Wild-beasts I leave,
And meekly suffer—and forgive.

Verse 2
Let Heathen murmur, or resent:
My Lord, I have not learnt Thee so,
Nor can I scorn the Instrument,
That deals thy Providential Blow,
Alas! I can no more despise,
Than hate my helpless Enemies.

Verse 3
I will not harbour in my Mind
A Burthen of injurious Ill,
Or own one single Thought unkind
Of Those whose keenest Hate I feel,
Or prophecy their fearful Doom,
But pray the Woe may never come.

Verse 4
Avert it, Lord, the Woe avert,
(Ev’n now I in thy Spirit pray,
Ev’n now He moves my melting Heart,)
On Them thy only Grace display,
To Them thy pardning Mercy shew,
For Ah! they know not what they do!