Verse 1
Shall our corruptions stand,
’Till death the walls o’erthrow?
Who bow to Joshua’s high command,
We have not learn’d him so:
We compass them about,
Day after day surround,
And wait th’ appointed sign to shout,
The trumpet’s sacred sound:
Verse 2
We wait in patient pain,
Our toilsome week fulfil;
Yet still the walls entire remain,
And undemolish’d still:
But tho’ our nature’s haste
Can never sin remove,
The seventh is the day of rest,
And brings the perfect love.