Isaac Watts Poems

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Our king is the care of Heaven.

The king, O Lord, with songs of praise,
Shall in thy strength rejoice;
And, blest with thy salvation, raise
To heav'n his cheerful voice.

Thy sure defence through nations round
Has spread his glorious name;
And his successful actions crowned
With majesty and fame.

Then let the king on God alone
For timely aid rely;
His mercy shall support the throne,
And all our wants supply.

But, righteous Lord, his stubborn foes
Shall feel thy dreadful hand;
Thy vengeful arm shall find out those
That hate his mild command.

When thou against them dost engage,
Thy just but dreadful doom
Shall, like a fiery oven's rage,
Their hopes and them consume.

Thus, Lord, thy wondrous power declare,
And thus exalt thy fame;
Whilst we glad songs of praise prepare
For thine almighty name.

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