Now from the roar­ing li­on’s rage,
O Lord, pro­tect Thy Son,
Nor leave Thy dar­ling to en­gage
The pow­ers of hell alone.

Thus did our suf­fer­ing Sav­ior pray
With migh­ty cries and tears;
God heard Him in that dread­ful day,
And chased away His fears.

Great was the vic­to­ry of His death,
His throne ex­alt­ed high;
And all the kin­dreds of the earth
Shall wor­ship or shall die.

A nu­mer­ous off­spring must arise
From His ex­pir­ing groans;
They shall be reck­oned in His eyes
For daugh­ters and for sons.

The meek and hum­ble souls shall see
His table rich­ly spread;
And all that seek the Lord shall be
With joys im­mor­tal fed.

The isles shall know the right­eous­ness
Of our in­car­nate God,
And na­tions yet un­born pro­fess
Salvation in His blood.