1 O righteous God, Thou judge supreme,
We tremble at Thy dreadful name,
And all our crying guilt we own,
In dust and tears before Thy throne.

2 So manifold our crimes have been,
Such crimson tincture dyes our sin,
That, could we all its horrors know,
Our streaming eyes with blood might flow.

3 Britain, the land Thine arm hath saved,
That arm most impiously hath braved;
Britain, the isle its God hath loved,
A rebel to that love hath proved.

4 Estranged from reverential awe,
We trample on Thy sacred law;
And though such wonders grace hath done,
Anew we crucify Thy Son.

5 Justly might this polluted land
Prove all the vengeance of Thy hand;
And, bathed in Heaven Thy sword might come
To drink our blood, and seal our doom.

6 Yet hast Thou not a remnant here,
Whose souls are filled with pious fear?
O bring Thy wonted mercy nigh,
While prostrate at Thy feet they lie.

7 Behold their tears, attend their moan,
Nor turn away their secret groan;
With these we join in humble prayer:
Our nation shield, our country spare.

8 But if the sentence be decreed,
And our dear native land must bleed,
By Thy sure mark may we be known,
And save in life or death Thy own.