Look down from heaven and see from your holy and glorious dwelling. Where is your zeal and your might? Are your deepest feelings, your mercy to me, to be restrained? After all, you are our Father. If Abraham will not own us, if Israel will not acknowledge us, you, Yahweh, are our Father, ‘Our Redeemer’ is your name from of old. Why, Yahweh, do you let us wander from your ways and let our hearts grow too hard to fear you? Return, for the sake of your servants, the tribes of your heritage. Your holy people have owned it for so short a time, our enemies have trampled on your sanctuary. We have long been like those you do not rule, people who do not bear your name. Oh, that you would tear the heavens open and come down — in your presence the mountains would quake.
[This passage, I’m told, is read in Zurich on the anniversary of Zwingli’s death].