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.