1 Now by the bowels of my God,
His sharp distress, his sore complaints,
By his last groans, his dying blood,
I charge my soul to love the saints.
2 Clamour, and wrath, and war be gone,
Envy and spite for ever cease,
Let bitter words no more be known
Amongst the saints, the sons of peace.
3 The Spirit, like a peaceful dove,
Flies from the realms of noise and strife;
Why should we vex and grieve his love,
Who seals our souls to heavenly life?
4 Tender and kind be all our thoughts,
Thro' all our lives let mercy run;
So God forgives our numerous faults
For the clear sake of Christ his Son.