O poor distracted world, partly a slave

O poor distracted world, partly a slave
To pagans' sinful rage, partly obscured
With ignorance of all the means that save!
And ev'n those parts of thee that live assured 'or one's fall," &c.
Of heav'nly grace, oh how they are divided
With doubts late by a kingly pen decided!
O happy world, if what the sire begun
Had been closed up by his religious son!

Mourn all you souls oppressed under the yoke
Of Christian-hating Thrace! never appeared
More likelihood to have that black league broke,
For such a heavenly Prince might well be feared
Of earthly fiends. Oh how is Zeal inflamed
With power, when Truth wanting defence is shamed!
O princely soul, rest thou in peace, while we
In thine expect the hopes were ripe in thee.