1 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.

2 Britain was doom'd to be a Slave,
Her Frame dissolv'd; her Fears were great;
When GOD a new Supporter gave,
To bear the Pillars of the State.

3 He from thy Hand receiv'd his Crown,
And swore to rule by wholesome Laws?
His Foot shall tread th' Oppressor down,
His Arm defend the righteous Cause.

4 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.

5 Such Honours never come by Chance,
Nor do the Winds Promotion blow;
'Tis GOD the Judge doth one advance,
'Tis GOD that lays another low.

6 No vain Pretence to Royal Birth
Shall fix a Tyrant on the Throne:
GOD, the great Sov'reign of the Earth,
Will rise, and make his Justice known.

7 [His Hand holds out the dreadful Cup
Of Vengeance, mix'd with various Plagues,
To make the Wicked drink 'em up,
Wring out, and taste the bitter Dregs.

8 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.]