A psalm for the 5th of November.
1 Not to our names, thou only Just and True, Not to our worthless names is glory due; Thy power and grace, thy truth and justice claim Immortal honours to thy sovereign Name: Shine thro' the earth from heaven, thy blest abode, Nor let the heathens say, "And where's your God?"
2 Heaven is thine higher court; there stands thy throne, And thro' the lower worlds thy will is done: Our God fram'd all this earth, these heavens he spread, But fools adore the gods their hands have made: The kneeling crowd, with looks devout, behold Their silver saviours, and their saints of gold.
3 [Vain are those artful shapes of eyes and ears; The molten image neither sees nor hears: Their hands are helpless, nor their feet can move, They have no speech, nor thought, nor power, nor love; Yet sottish mortals make their long complaints To their deaf idols, and their moveless saints.
4 The rich have statues well adorn'd with gold; The poor, content with gods of coarser mould, With tools of iron carve the senseless stock, Lopt from a tree, or broken from a rock: People and priest drive on the solemn trade, And trust the gods that saws and hammers made.]
5 Be heaven and earth amaz'd! 'Tis hard to say Which is more stupid, or their gods or they: O Israel, trust the Lord, he hears and sees, He knows thy sorrows, and restores thy peace: His worship does a thousand comforts yield, He is thy help, and he thy heavenly shield.
6 O Britain, trust the Lord: thy foes in vain Attempt thy ruin, and oppose his reign; Had they prevail'd, darkness had clos'd our days, And death and silence had forbid his praise; But we are sav'd, and live: let songs arise, And Britain bless the God that built the skies.