Father of ev­er­last­ing grace,
Thy aw­ful pro­vi­dence we own,
Holy and just are all Thy ways,
Thy name be praised, Thy will be done.

Thy wise per­mis­sive will be bliss
Which lets the sons of night suc­ceed,
With lawl­ess might Thy ser­vant seize
And trample on his guilt­less head.

By Sa­tan in­to pri­son cast,
His bonds Thy Gos­pel shall pro­claim,
And Thou shalt bring him forth at last,
In hon­or of Thy glo­ri­ous name.

Lord, we be­lieve against his foes,
Thou soon shalt laugh their rage to scorn,
Confound who Thee and Thine op­pose,
And all their hell­ish strength o’er­turn.