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.
|First Line:||O Britain, praise thy mighty God|
|Title:||Psalm 147 Part 2|
|Topic:||Creation and Providence; Grace: and providence; Providence: in air, earth, and sea(20 more...)|