Scripture Verse

The God of my rock; in Him will I trust: He is my shield, and the horn of my salvation, my high tower, and my refuge, my Savior; Thou savest me from violence.2 Samuel 22:3

Introduction

Words: Ben­ja­min Bed­dome (1717–1795). Pub­lished post­hu­mous­ly in Hymns Adapt­ed to Pub­lic Wor­ship (Lon­don: Bu­rton & Briggs, 1818), num­ber 745, alt. Un­der Na­tion­al Ca­la­mi­ties.

Music: De­Pauw Ro­bert G. Mc­Cutch­an, 1930 (🔊 pdf nwc).

Alternate Tunes:

If you know where to get a good pic­ture of Bed­dome (head & shoul­ders, at least 200×300 pix­els),

portrait
Robert G. McCutchan (1877–1958)

Lyrics

O Lord, our na­tion’s help and friend,
Thy Churchʼs shield un­til the end;
Protect us with Thy migh­ty hand,
Guard our be­lov­èd na­tive land.

From Thy high throne above the skies,
Behold what wick­ed men de­vise;
Avert, we pray, the threat­ened storm,
And foil the mon­strous schemes they form.

Let thun­ders roar, im­press with fear:
May they Thine awful pow­er re­vere;
And learn from Thine up­lift­ed rod,
Our coun­try still is dear to God.

O Thou, whose rule and so­ver­eign sway
All things in Heav’n and earth ob­ey,
Abase the proud, ex­alt the poor,
Let sin­ners trem­ble, saints adore.

For Je­susʼ sake, that migh­ty name,
Clothe all our ene­mies with shame;
Our thank­ful voic­es then shall raise
Loud songs to our de­liv­er­er’s praise.

Beddome’s orig­in­al ver­sion:

Oh God, our on­ly help and hope,
The na­tionʼs shield, the church’s prop,
Now con­des­cend again to smile
On our dis­ting­uished na­tive isle.

From thy high throne above the skies,
Behold what wick­ed men de­vise;
Avert, oh Lord, the threaten­ed storm,
And dis­con­cert the schemes they form.

Utter thy voice, im­press with fear,
Let them thine aw­ful power re­vere;
And learn from thine up­lift­ed rod,
That Bri­tain still is dear to God.

O thou whose rule and so­ver­eign sway,
All things in hea­ven and earth ob­ey,
Abase the proud, ex­alt the poor,
Let sin­ners trem­ble, saints adore.

For Zi­onʼs sake, that fa­voured name,
Clothe all our ene­mies with shame;
Our thank­ful voic­es then shall raise
Loud songs to our de­liv­er­er’s praise.