O Righteous God, Thou Judge Supreme

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.

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.

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.

Estranged from rev­er­en­tial awe

We tram­ple on Thy sac­red law;

And though such won­ders grace hath done

Anew we cru­ci­fy Thy Son.

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.

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.

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.

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.