Verse 1
While Britain’s sons their trophies raise,
Triumphant, as in full success,
And bliss without alloy,
Let pity for our bleeding foes,
Let love, which no distinction knows,
Correct the general joy.

Verse 2
Our country sav’d from sword and fire,
Doth every Briton’s thanks require,
And lifts our hearts to God;
But can we, Lord, delight to see
These scenes of human misery,
This waste of Christian blood?

Verse 3
We mourn the slaughter’d sons of Gaul,
We tremble, while thy judgments fall
On our invader’s head:
Their lives to ransom ours are given,
And crouds out of the body driven,
Have perish’d in our stead.

Verse 4
The thousands whom our hands have slain
Do we, alas, who still remain,
In holiness excel?
Our army, is it not, like theirs,
A bundle of devoted tares,
Our fleet a floating hell?

Verse 5
We, even we, the scourge demand;
But in the gap a people stand,
Poor, helpless, and unknown,
A little flock, a remnant small,
Afflicted, and despis’d by all,
And lov’d of God alone.

Verse 6
Thou to the cry of thine elect,
Yet once again hast had respect,
And would’st not vengeance take:
Thy wrath was ready to consume,
When mercy respited our doom
For the ten righteous’ sake.

Verse 7
But is thine anger turn’d aside,
Thy justice fully satisfy’d
With punishing our foe?
Thine arm appears extended still!
Which of thine enemies shall feel
The next destructive blow?

Verse 8
We still the bloody harness wear;
The weapon of the Lord is bare
Against our wickedness:
The sword thou didst in vengeance send,
O when shall its commission end,
And wars forever cease!

Verse 9
Saviour of men, thro’ whom we live,
Do thou the peaceful answer give,
While at thy feet we groan:
Stop this effusion of our blood,
Thou who hast quench’d the wrath of God
By pouring out thine own.

Verse 10
Repentance upon both bestow,
Our foes and us; that each may know
Their sins thro’ faith forgiven,
That all may cordially embrace,
And sweetly reconcil’d by grace,
Go hand in hand to heaven.