Not to our names, Thou on­ly just and true,
Not to our worth­less names is glo­ry due;
Thy pow­er and grace, Thy truth and jus­tice claim
Immortal hon­ors to Thy so­ve­reign name:
Shine through the earth from Heav’n, Thy blest abode,
Nor let the hea­thens say, And where’s your God?

Heav’n is Thine high­er court, there stands Thy throne,
And through the low­er worlds Thy will is done;
Our God framed all this earth, these heav’ns He spread;
But fools ado­re the gods their hands have made:
The kneel­ing crowd, with looks de­vout, be­hold
Their sil­ver sav­iors, and their saints of gold.

Vain are those art­ful shapes of eyes and ears;
The molt­en im­age nei­ther sees nor hears;
Their hands are help­less, nor their feet can move,
They have no speech, nor thought, nor pow­er, nor love;
Yet sot­tish mor­tals make their long com­plaints
To their deaf id­ols and their move­less saints.

The rich have sta­tues well adorned with gold;
The poor, con­tent with gods of coars­er mold,
With tools of ir­on carve the sense­less stock,
Lopped from a tree, or brok­en from a rock;
People and priest drive on the so­lemn trade,
And trust the gods that saws and ham­mers made.

Be Heav’n and earth amazed! ’Tis hard to say
Which is more stu­pid, sense­less gods or they:
O Israel, trust the Lord; He hears and sees,
He knows thy sor­rows and re­stores thy peace;
His wor­ship does a thou­sand com­forts yield,
He is thy help, and He thy heav’n­ly shield.

O Bri­tain, trust the Lord: thy foes in vain
Attempt thy ru­in, and op­pose His reign;
Had they pre­vailed, dark­ness had closed our days,
And death and si­lence had for­bid His praise:
But we are saved, and live; let songs arise,
And Bri­tain bless the God that built the skies.