To Thee, most Ho­ly, and most High,
To Thee we bring our thank­ful praise;
Thy works de­clare Thy name is nigh,
Thy works of won­der and of grace.

Our na­tion doomed to be a slave,
[originally, Bri­tain was doomed to be a slave]
Her frame dis­solved; her fears were great;
When God a new sup­port­er gave
To bear the pil­lars of the state.

He from Thy hand re­ceived his crown,
And swore to rule by whole­some laws;
His foot shall tread th’op­press­or down,
His arm de­fend the right­eous cause.

Let haugh­ty sin­ners sink their pride,
Nor lift so high their scorn­ful head;
But lay their fool­ish thoughts aside,
And own the king that God hath made.

Such hon­ors ne­ver come by chance,
Nor do the winds pro­mo­tion blow:
’Tis God the Judge doth one ad­vance,
’Tis God that lays an­oth­er low.

No vain pre­tense to roy­al birth
Shall fix a ty­rant on the throne:
God the great So­ver­eign of the earth
Will rise and make His jus­tice known.

His hand holds out the dread­ful cup
Of ven­geance mixed with va­ri­ous plagues,
To make the wick­ed drink them up,
Wring out and taste the bit­ter dregs.

Now shall the Lord ex­alt the just,
And while He tram­ples on the proud
And lays their glo­ry in the dust,
My lips shall sing His praise aloud.