To our once favored native land,
[originally, On Britain, long a favour’d isle]
Now overwhelmed with guilt and shame,
O mighty God, stretch out Thy hand,
The same Thy power, Thy grace the same.

Let peace descend with balmy wing,
And all its blessings round her shed;
Her liberties be well secured,
And commerce lift its fainting head.

Let fearsome cannons cease to roar,
The warlike trump no longer sound;
The din of arms be heard no more,
Nor human blood pollute the ground.

Let hostile troops drop from their hands
The useless sword, the glittering spear;
And join in friendship’s sacred bands,
Nor one discordant voice be there.

Thus save, O Lord, our sinking land;
A million tongues shall then adore,
Resound the honors of Thy name,
And spread Thy praise from shore to shore.