O God, no long­er hold Thy peace,
No long­er si­lent be;
Thine ene­mies lift up their head
To fight Thy saints and Thee.
Against Thine own, whom Thou dost love,
Their craft Thy foes em­ploy;
They think to cut Thy peo­ple off,
Thy church they would de­stroy.

Thine an­cient foes, con­spir­ing still,
With one con­sent agree,
And they who with Thy peo­ple strive
Make war, O God, on Thee.
O God, who in our fa­thers’ time
Didst smite our foes and Thine,
So smite Thine ene­mies to­day
Who in their pride com­bine.

Make them like dust and stub­ble blown
Before the whirl­wind dire,
In ter­ror driv’n be­fore the storm
Of Thy con­sum­ing fire.
Confound them in their sin till they
To Thee for par­don fly,
Till in dis­may they, trem­bling, own
That Thou art God Most High.