Thy Foes Succeeding Times Shall Own

Thy foes suc­ceed­ing times shall own

Long as the sun and wax­ing moon

With var­ied light

in swift ca­reer

Alternate guide the circ­ling year.

The Son from Heav’n His grace shall pour

Delightful as the co­pi­ous show­er

Whose drops re­fresh the new-shorn plain

And swell with life the food­ful grain.

His care the just aloft shall raise

Nor fair pros­per­ity His days

Desist to crown

till round the pole

The mea­sured months shall cease to roll.

From sea to sea His wide comm­and

Shall reach

and from Eu­phra­tes’ strand

Through realms of var­ious tongue ex­tend

Far as to earth’s re­mot­est end.

To Him the de­sert tribes shall kneel;

His foes

that on their con­quer­ing steel

Reposed ere while their fran­tic trust

Shall pro­strate fall

and lick the dust.