1 O thou, who hast o'er all eternal sway,
Whose throne is heav'n, and whom the worlds obey;
When griefs distress, when foes around me rise,
To thy paternal love I lift mine eyes.
2 As with attentive eye the slave observes;
His matter's beck, nor from his duty swerves;
As views the maid her mistress' nod with care,
That she her favour and her love may share;
So wait our eyes on our all-clement Lord,
Till he his blest beneficence afford,
3 E'en now assist us, and our griefs remove;
Mere objects of reproach, of scorn, we prove;
Our foes insult us, and our griefs deride,
And utter their contempt with killing pride;
Our anguish'd souls their insolence can't bear,
Have mercy, Lord, and our confusion spare.