1 Not to our names thou only just and true,
Not to our worthless names is glory due;
Thy pow'r and grace, thy truth and justice claim
Immortal honors to thy sov'reign name
Shine thro' the earth from heav'n thy blest abode
Nor let the heathens say; "and where's your God?"
2 Heav'n is thine higher court, there stands thy throne,
And thro' the lower worlds thy will is done;
Our God framed all this earth, these heav'ns he spread,
But fools adore the gods their hands have made/
The kneeling croud, 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 tho't, nor pow'r, 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 heav'n and earth amazed! 'Tis hard to say
Which is more stupid, or their Gods or they:
O Isr'el, 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 heav'nly 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.
My Starred Hymns
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