Let proud imperious kings

Bow low before his throne:

Crouch to his feet, ye haughty things,

Or he shall tread you down.

Above the skies he reigns,

And with amazing blows

He deals insufferable pains

On his rebellious foes.

Yet, everlasting God,

We love to speak thy praise;

Thy sceptre's equal to thy rod,

The sceptre of thy grace.

The arms of mighty love

Defend our Zion well:

And heav'nly mercy walls us round

From Babylon and hell.

Salvation to the King

That sits enthroned above!

Thus we adore the God of might,

And bless the God of love.