Verse 1
Why do the christen’d heathens rage,
And furiously their pow’rs engage
Against the Lord most high,
Against his dread vicegerent here,
Cast off the yoke of loyal fear,
And God himself defy?
Verse 2
Counsel they take, but not by thee,
Great King of kings, whose firm decree
Supports the British throne:
Through whom our rightful monarch reigns,
Thy sov’reign character sustains,
And bows to thee alone.
Verse 3
Thine eye observes, thy Spirit knows
His open, and his secret foes,
Who deep their plots conceal,
As zealous for their country’s good,
Stir up the undiscerning crowd,
And make a league with hell.
Verse 4
But thou, without the help of man,
Canst all their fiercest wrath restrain,
And all their plots confound:
Canst on our king thy blessings shed,
And cover his anointed head,
With lasting glories crown’d.
Verse 5
Answ’ring in us thy Spirit’s cries,
Now, Lord, in his defence arise,
With majesty supreme
Adorn the man of thy right hand,
That all may bless his mild command,
And honour thee in him.
Verse 6
Long may he here thy image live,
Thy kingdom in his heart receive,
Spiritual joys unknown:
Earnest of joys that never end,
And late with all thy saints ascend,
To fill a heav’nly throne.