O Britain, praise thy mighty God,

And make his honors known abroad,

He bid the ocean round thee flow;

Not bars of brass could guard thee so.

Thy children are secure and blest;

Thy shores have peace, thy cities rest;

He feeds thy sons with finest wheat,

And adds his blessing to their meat.

Thy changing seasons he ordains,

Thine early and thy latter rains;

His flakes of snow like wool he sends,

And thus the springing corn defends.

With hoary frost he strews the ground;

His hail descends with clatt'ring sound:

Where is the man so vainly bold

That dares defy his dreadful cold?

He bids the southern breezes blow;

The ice dissolves, the waters flow:

But he hath nobler works and ways

To call the Britons to his praise.

To all the isle his laws are shown,

His gospel through the nation known;

He hath not thus revealed his word

To every land: praise ye the Lord.