Indulgent so­ver­eign of the skies,
And wilt Thou bow Thy gra­cious ear?
While fee­ble mor­tals raise their cries,
Wilt Thou, the great Je­ho­vah, hear?

How shall Thy ser­vants give Thee rest,
Till Zi­on’s mol­der­ing walls Thou raise?
Till Thine own pow­er shall stand con­fessed
And make Je­ru­salem a praise?

For this, a low­ly sup­pli­ant crowd
Here in Thy sac­red tem­ple wait:
For this, we lift our voic­es loud,
And call, and knock at mer­cy’s gate.

Look down, O God, with pi­ty­ing eye,
And view the de­so­la­tion round;
See what wide realms in dark­ness lie,
And hurl their id­ols to the ground.

Loud let the Gos­pel trumpet blow,
And call the na­tions from afar;
Let all the isles their Sav­ior know,
And earth’s re­mot­est ends draw near.

Let Ba­by­lon’s proud al­tars shake,
And light in­vade her dark­est gloom;
The yoke of ir­on bond­age break,
The yoke of Sa­tan, and of Rome.

With gen­tle beams on Bri­tain shine,
And bless her princ­es and their priests;
And by Thine en­er­gy di­vine
Let sac­red love o’erf­low their breasts.

Triumphant here let Je­sus reign,
And on His vine­yard sweet­ly smile;
While all the vir­tues of His train
Adorn our church, adorn our life.

On all our souls let grace des­cend,
Like heav’n­ly dew in co­pi­ous show­ers,
That we may call our God our friend,
That we may hail sal­va­tion ours.

Then shall each age and rank agree
United shouts of joy to raise;
And Zi­on, made a praise by Thee,
To Thee shall ren­der back the praise.