Verse 1
Great Judge of all opprest with wrong
Our persecuted brethren see!
Expos’d, and outrag’d all day long,
Martyrs of faith and loyalty,
Deserted at their utmost need,
They for their King and Country bleed.

Verse 2
By rebels arm’d with cruel power
As rebels judg’d, and doom’d to die,
They lean on broken reeds no more,
No more on public Faith rely,
On any prince, or child of man,
Who cannot feel Another’s pain.

Verse 3
Their foes, as countenanc’d by Thee,
Implacable, with rage and scorn
Insult their helpless misery,
Beneath their feet the victims spurn,
As objects of the general hate,
By all abandon’d to their fate.

Verse 4
“You that on Britain built your hope,
“Nor woud, like us, your King abjure,
“Confident now to both look up
“For succour and protection sure:
“Where is your King, the scoffing croud
“Exclaim, and Where is now your God?

Verse 5
“Your Country has deceiv’d your trust,
“Subjecting you to our commands,
“Your King out of his realms has thrust,
“And given you up into our hands:
“Where will ye now for refuge fly?
“Curse, curse, like us, your King, and die![”]

Verse 6
Merciful, just, almighty Lord,
Tis time for Thee to interpose,
Thine arm can still relief afford,
And snatch from their triumphant foes
Our brethren urg’d to sad despair
By ills too sore for life to bear.

Verse 7
Why shoud they lose their sufferings past,
To madness by oppression driven?
Why shoud they lose their souls at last?
Shall Rebels shut them out of heaven?
They only can the body kill;
To save their souls is Jesus’ will.

Verse 8
Ah, give them, Lord, the rod to hear,
To mourn, and put their sins away,
Turn to their God with grief sincere,
Out of the deep for mercy pray,
Death’s sentence from Thyself receive,
And judge themselves not fit to live.

Verse 9
Then, then their humbled souls indue
With faith that may the fire abide,
Till Thou, like gold, hast brought them thro’,
Refin’d, and seven times purified,
Thine all-sufficient grace to prove,
Thy truth, and everlasting love.

Verse 10
Arm of the Lord, awake, awake,
Such power belongs to Thee alone,
A way for the Redeem’d to make,
That all thy wondrous deed may own,
And Britain’s sons the trophy raise,
Preserv’d, to thy eternal praise!