Wherefore do the na­tions rage,
And the people vain­ly dream,
That in tri­umph they can wage
War against the King su­preme?
Christ His Son a scoff they make
And the rul­ers plot­ting say:
Their do­min­ion let us break,
Let us cast their yoke away.

But the Lord will scorn them all,
Calm He sits en­throned on high;
Soon His wrath will on them fall,
Sore dis­pleased He will re­ply:
Yet ac­cord­ing to My will
I have set My King to reign,
And on Zi­on’s ho­ly hill
Mine An­oint­ed I main­tain.

This His word shall be made known,
This Je­ho­vah’s firm de­cree:
Thou art My be­lov­èd Son,
Yea, I have be­got­ten Thee.
All the earth at Thy re­quest
I will give Thee for Thine own;
Then Thy might shall be con­fessed
And Thy foes be ov­er­thrown.

Therefore, kings, be wise, give ear;
Hearken, judg­es of the earth;
Learn to serve the Lord with fear,
Mingle trem­bling with your mirth.
Kiss the Son, lest o’er your way
His con­sum­ing wrath should break;
But su­preme­ly blest are they
Who in Christ their re­fuge take.