O Britain, praise thy mighty God,
And make his honors known abroad,
He bid the ocean round thee flow;
Not bars of brass could guard thee so.

Thy children are secure and blest;
Thy shores have peace, thy cities rest;
He feeds thy sons with finest wheat,
And adds his blessing to their meat.

Thy changing seasons he ordains,
Thine early and thy latter rains;
His flakes of snow like wool he sends,
And thus the springing corn defends.

With hoary frost he strews the ground;
His hail descends with clatt'ring sound:
Where is the man so vainly bold
That dares defy his dreadful cold?

He bids the southern breezes blow;
The ice dissolves, the waters flow:
But he hath nobler works and ways
To call the Britons to his praise.

To all the isle his laws are shown,
His gospel through the nation known;
He hath not thus revealed his word
To every land: praise ye the Lord.