Verse 1
But ah! What means this frantick noise!
Do these, good God, to thee rejoice,
Whose ecchoing shouts we hear!
A beastly Bacchanalian crowd!
Whose oaths prophane, and curses loud
Torment the sober ear!

Verse 2
With foul and riotous excess,
With surfeiting and drunkenness
They magnify thy name,
With vauntings proud, and impious jest,
(The horrors of Belshazzar’s feast)
They glory in their shame.

Verse 3
The rich to thy dread courts repair,
And offering up their formal prayer
As incense to the skies,
With SPORTS they close the hallow’d day,
Their promis’d vows to Satan pay,
An hellish sacrifice!

Verse 4
But do ye thus the Lord requite,
(While Britain’s host goes forth to fight,)
Or thus his help engage!
Ah! Foolish souls, who still declare
Your hatred against God, and war
With your defender wage!

Verse 5
Ye rob Britannia of her shield,
Jehovah, by your thanks compel’d
To join the vanquish’d side:
Ye force him to exalt the foe,
To lay our lofty nation low,
And scourge us for our pride.

Verse 6
Yet, O most patient God, forbear
The wretches who thy anger dare,
And court th’ invader’s sword;
Rather regard the faithfull seed,
Who to the opening seal give heed,
And tremble at thy word.

Verse 7
We do not dream the danger past!
The first may soon become the last,
Unless thine hand we see
Extended o’re the nations now,
And humbly to thy judgments bow,
And ask our lives from thee.

Verse 8
Our lives are in our Maker’s hand;
And ’till thy mind we understand,
Thine utmost counsel prove,
O let us in the Spirit groan,
Father, thy will on earth be done,
As in the courts above!