CCCLXVII. For the Thanksgiving-Day for the Peace, April 25, 1749.

NOW let our Songs address the GOD of Peace,
Who bids the Tumult of the Battle cease:
The pointed Spears to pruning Hooks he bends,
And the broad Faulchion in the Plow-share ends.
His pow'rful Word unites contending Nations
In kind Embrace, and friendly Salutations.

Britain, adore the Guardian of thy State;
Who, high on his celestial Throne elate,
Still watchful o'er thy Safety and Repose,
Frown'd on the Counsels of thy haughtiest Foes;
Thy Coasts secur'd from ev'ry dire Invasion
Of Fire and Sword and spreading Desolation.

When rebel bands with desp'rate madness join'd,
He wafted o'er Deliv'rance with his Wind;
Drove back the Tide, that delug'd half our Land,
And curb'd their Fury with his mightier Hand:
Till dreadful Slaughter, and the last Confusion
Taught those audacious Sinners their Delusion.

He gave our Fleets to triumph o'er the Main,
And scatter Terror 'cross wide Ocean's Plain:
Opposing Leaders trembled at the Sight,
Nor found their Safety in th' attempted Flight;
Taught by their Bonds, how vainly they pretended
Those to distress, whom Israel's GOD defended.

Fierce Storms were summon'd up in Britain's aid,
And meagre Famine hostile Lands o'erspread;
By Suff'rings bow'd their Conquests they release,
Nor scorn the Overtures of equal Peace:
Contending Pow'rs congratulate the Blessing,
Joint Hymns of Gratitude to Heav'n addressing.

While we beneath our Vines and Fig-Trees sit,
Or thus within thy sacred Temple meet,
Accept, Great GOD, the Tribute of our Song,
And all the Mercies of this Day prolong.
Then spread thy peaceful Word thro' ev'ry Nation,
That all the Earth may hail thy great Salvation.