Psalm 75

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.

Britain was doom'd to be a slave,

Her frame dissolv'd, her fears were great;

When God a new supporter gave

To bear the pillars of the state.

He from thy hand receiv'd his crown,

And sware to rule by wholesome laws

His foot shall tread th' oppressor down,

His arm defend the righteous cause.

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.

Such honours never come by chance,

Nor do the winds promotion blow;

'Tis God the judge doth one advance,

'Tis God that lays another low.

No vain pretence to royal birth

Shall fix a tyrant on the throne:

God the great sovereign of the earth

Will rise and make his justice known.

[His hand holds out the dreadful cup

Of vengeance, mix'd with various plagues,

To make the wicked drink them up,

Wring out and taste the bitter dregs.

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.]