Thy foes succeeding times shall own,
Long as the sun and waxing moon,
With varied light, in swift career,
Alternate guide the circling year.
The Son from Heaven His grace shall pour,
Delightful as the copious shower,
Whose drops refresh the new-shorn plain,
And swell with life the foodful grain.
His care the just aloft shall raise,
Nor fair prosperity His days
Desist to crown, till round the pole,
The measured months shall cease to roll.
From sea to sea His wide command
Shall reach, and from Euphrates’ strand
Through realms of various tongue extend,
Far as to earth’s remotest end.
To Him the desert tribes shall kneel;
His foes, that on their conquering steel
Reposed ere while their frantic trust,
Shall prostrate fall, and lick the dust.