hell unknown,
Put their most dreadful forms
Of rage and mischief on;
I shall be safe,
For Christ displays
Superior power,
And guardian grace.

End of the First Book.

Hymns.

Book 2.

Composed on Divine Subjects.

Hymn 2:1.
A song of praise to God from Great Britain.

1 Nature with all her powers shall sing
God the Creator and the King;
Nor air, nor earth, nor skies, nor seas
Deny the tribute of their praise.

2 [Begin to make his glories known,
Ye seraphs that sit near his throne;
Tune your harps high, and spread the sound
To the creation's utmost bound.

3 All mortal things of meaner frame,
Exert your force and own his Name;
Whilst with our souls and with our voice
We sing his honours and our joys.]

4 [To him be sacred all we have
From the young cradle to the grave:
Our lips shall his loud wonders tell,
And every word a miracle.]

5 [This northern isle, our native land,
Lies safe in God th' Almighty's hand:
Our foes of victory dream in vain,
And wear the captivating chain.

6 He builds and guards the British throne,
And makes it gracious like his own,
Makes our successive princes kind,
And gives our dangers to the wind.]

7 Raise monumental praises high
To him that thunders thro' the sky,
And with an awful nod or frown
Shakes an aspiring tyrant down.

8 [Pillars of lasting brass proclaim
The triumphs of th' eternal Name;
While trembling nations read from far
The honours of the God of war.]

9 Thus let our flaming zeal employ
Our loftiest thoughts and loudest songs
Britain pronounce with warmest joy
Hosanna from ten thousand tongues.

10 Yet, mighty God, our feeble frame
Attempts in vain to reach thy Name;
The strongest notes that angels raise
Faint in the worship and the praise.

Hymn 2:2.
The death of a sinner.

1 My thoughts on awful subjects roll,
Damnation and the dead;
What horrors seize the guilty soul
Upon a dying bed!

2 Lingering about these mortal shores,
She makes a long delay,
Till like a flood with rapid force
Death sweeps the wretch away.

3 Then swift and dreadful she descends
Down to the fiery coast,
Amongst abominable fiends,
Herself a frightful ghost.

4 There endless crowds of sinners lie,
And darkness makes their chains;
Tortur'd with keen despair they cry,
Yet wait for fiercer pains.

5 Not all their anguish and their blood
For their old guilt atones,
Nor the compassions of a God
Shall hearken to their groans.

6 Amazing grace