Verse 1
Great guardian of Britannia’s land,
To thee we here present our blood,
Set forth the last, a desperate band
Devoted for our country’s good,
Our brethren dear, our flesh and bone,
We live, and die, for them alone.

Verse 2
Our brethren; tho’ they still disclaim,
And us despitefully intreat,
With scornful rage cast out our name,
Trample as dirt beneath their feet,
Out of their synagogues expel,
And doom us to the hottest hell.

Verse 3
If thou preserve our souls in peace,
Our brethren shall afflict in vain:
Most patient, when they most oppress,
We all their cruel wrongs sustain,
And strengthen’d by thy meek’ning power,
The more they hate, we love the more.

Verse 4
No, never shall their rage prevail,
Or force us the dry bones to leave:
The more they push us from the pale,
The closer we to Sion cleave,
And daily in the temple found,
Delight to kiss the sacred ground.

Verse 5
If some defile the hallow’d place,
The truth, and us with slanders load,
Or fiercely from their altars chase,
And rob us of the children’s food,
We will not quit thy house and word,
Or loath the offerings of the Lord.

Verse 6
Should those who sit in Moses’ seat,
Conspire thy little flock to harm,
Judge in their courts, and scourge, and beat,
And bruise us with the ruler’s arm,
Matter of joy our shame we make,
And bear it, Saviour, for thy sake.

Verse 7
Or should they stir the people up
Our goods to spoil, our limbs to tear,
Sustain’d by that immortal hope,
Their lawless violence we bear;
Or laid in bonds our voices raise,
And shake the dungeon with thy praise.

Verse 8
A gazing-stock to fiends and men,
When arm’d with thine all-patient power,
As sheep appointed to be slain,
We wait the last, the fiery hour,
And ne’er from England’s church will move,
Till torn away—to that above.