On the King's Birth-day

Auspicious Morn, thy joyful Beams display,
And glad the Nations with this glorious Day;
This Day, which deep in Time's mysterious Womb,
By Fate was promis'd to an Age to come.
When Heav'n's Supream the Embryon Years survey'd,
And future Kingdoms in the Balance weigh'd,
The Globe sustaining in his pow'rful Hand,
Which rolls obedient to his great Command,
Britain divided from the World he saw,
The Nurse of Liberty, and Land of Law:
Britain his own Almighty Fiat plac'd
In Ocean's Arms by circling Waves embrac'd,
Her Native Fence; from Foreign Foes secur'd,
By swelling Seas and rising Rocks immur'd,
Her liquid Wall, whose floating Tow'rs shall ride,
All Europe's Terror,—Albion's Strength and Pride.
Distinguish'd Isle! where Truth and Freedom dwell,
Whose Godlike Sons in Arts and Arms excell!
On thee th' indulgent Pow'r propitious smiles,
And makes this Promise to the Queen of Isles:
When Ages hence, and Years predestin'd roll,
When radiant Science gilds the frozen Pole;
A mighty Prince shall o'er thee mildly sway;
Whom foreign Realms are destin'd to obey;
A promis'd Prince by my secure Decree,
On Earth my Image, and belov'd by me:
His potent Scepter shall serenely wield,
Prudent in Peace, and dreadful in the Field;
Religion's Friend, for Virtue's Shield design'd,
To none a Foe, but Foes of Humankind;
The Tyrant's Terror, aiding the Distress'd,
Europe's Support, by rescu'd Nations bless'd;
At Home the Bulwark of his People's Laws,
Abroad protecting ev'ry injur'd Cause.
Envy and Fraud shall in his Time decay,
And George and Justice willing Nations sway.

Behold the promis'd Prince we joyful own,
By Fate ordain'd to fill Britannia's Throne.
His Regal Hand her Scepter's Weight sustains,
The Monarch's come—imperial Brunswick reigns.
Ye Angels bright! on heav'nly Errands sent
To guard his Throne, and shield his awful Tent,
Around his sacred Person spread your Wings,
Preserve his Kingdoms in the best of Kings;
Drive hence Rebellion to Hell's Shades away,
Make hateful Factions at his Frown decay,
Let lasting Concord through Britannia smile,
And the World's Wealth o'erflow the happy Isle!
Grant it, ye Pow'rs! who human Ways direct,
Who govern Kingdoms, and who Kings protect:
But chiefly thou! whom Britain's Monarch claims,
To smooth his Slumbers, and inspire his Dreams!
Around his Couch on downy Wings preside,
By Day his Guardian, and by Night his Guide;
As late at Dettingen, so still thy Care,
In Peace his Minister, his Shield in War!