On The Late Glorious Victories

TOO long the kingdoms of the world,
Have own'd a Tyrant's beck;
Altars and Thrones in ruin hurl'd,
Have shared one common wreck.
BRITANNIA firm alone disdain'd
T' obey his impious nod;
Her Faith, her Loyalty maintain'd,
True to her King and God.
Nations whom her example fires,
Now spurn the galling yoke;
The Tyrant's dazzling glare expires,
His magic spell is broke.
Lo! where the proud Usurper's host,
Our bands allied subdue;
And on his own affrighted coast,
With Conquest's shouts pursue.
Great God! we own the battle thine,
From Thee our Vict'ries flow;
Teach us to see thine arm divine,
Directing every blow.
Whilst o'er the foe our hearts rejoice,
And lasting trophies raise,
To Thee we lift the grateful voice,
In hymns of ardent praise.