C. M.

The church saved, and her enemies disappointed.

[composed for the 5th of November, 1694.]

Shout to the Lord, and let our joys

Through the whole nation run;

Ye British skies, resound the noise

Beyond the rising sun.

Thee, mighty God, our souls admire,

Thee our glad voices sing,

And join with the celestial choir

To praise th' eternal King.

Thy power the whole creation rules,

And on the starry skies

Sits smiling at the weak designs

Thine envious foes devise.

Thy scorn derides their feeble rage,

And with an awful frown

Flings vast confusion on their plots,

And shakes their Babel down.

[Their secret fires in caverns lay,

And we the sacrifice;

But gloomy caverns strove in vain

To 'scape all-searching eyes.

Their dark designs were all revealed,

Their treasons all betrayed:

Praise to the God that broke the snare

Their cursed hands had laid.]

In vain the busy sons of hell

Still new rebellions try,

Their souls shall pine with envious rage,

And vex away and die.