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.