1 To Thee, most Holy, and most High,
To Thee we bring our thankful praise;
Thy works declare Thy name is nigh,
Thy works of wonder and of grace.

2 Our nation doomed to be a slave,
[originally, Britain was doomed to be a slave]
Her frame dissolved; her fears were great;
When God a new supporter gave
To bear the pillars of the state.

3 He from Thy hand received his crown,
And swore to rule by wholesome laws;
His foot shall tread th’oppressor down,
His arm defend the righteous cause.

4 Let haughty sinners sink their pride,
Nor lift so high their scornful head;
But lay their foolish thoughts aside,
And own the king that God hath made.

5 Such honors never come by chance,
Nor do the winds promotion blow:
’Tis God the Judge doth one advance,
’Tis God that lays another low.

6 No vain pretense to royal birth
Shall fix a tyrant on the throne:
God the great Sovereign of the earth
Will rise and make His justice known.

7 His hand holds out the dreadful cup
Of vengeance mixed with various plagues,
To make the wicked drink them up,
Wring out and taste the bitter dregs.

8 Now shall the Lord exalt the just,
And while He tramples on the proud
And lays their glory in the dust,
My lips shall sing His praise aloud.