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.