To Thee, O God, we render Praise,
to Thee with Thanks repair;
For, that thy Name to us is nigh,
thy wond’rous Works declare.
In Israel when my Throne is fix’d,
with me shall Justice reign.
The Land with Discord shakes; but I
the sinking Frame sustain.

Deluded Wretches I advis’d
their Errors to redress;
And warn’d bold Sinners, that they should
their swelling Pride suppress.
Bear not our selves so high, as if
no Pow’r could yours restrain:
Submit your stubborn Necks, and learn
to speak with less Disdain.

For that Promotion, which to gain
your vain Ambition strives,
From neither East, nor West, nor yet
from Southern Climes arrives.
For God the great Disposer is,
and Sov’reign Judge alone,
Who casts the Proud to Earth, and lifts
the Humble to a Throne.

His Hand holds forth a dreadful Cup;
with purple Wine ’tis crown’d;
The deadly Mixture, which his Wrath
deals out to Nations round.
Of this his Saints sometimes may taste;
but wicked Men shall squeeze
The bitter Dregs, and be condemn’d
to drink the very Lees.

His Prophet, I, to all the World
this Message will relate:
The Justice then of Jacob’s God
my Song shall celebrate.
The Wicked’s Pride I will reduce,
their Cruelty disarm;
Exalt the Just, and seat him high,
above the Reach of Harm.