A Hymn of Thanksgiving for our late Deliverance

THy wondrous Acts of Grace, O Lord,
Wrought in all Peoples sight,
May stir us up with one accord
To praise thee day and night.

The cursed snare that Babel laid,
Is broken, Lord, by thee;
And they of whom we were afraid,
Confounded also be.

When we like Men near dead did lye,
And knew not what to do;
Thou didst defeat our Enemy,
And them quite overthrow.

Thou hast also, Lord, heard our Cry
For bleeding Ireland;
And sav'd the King, when death was nigh,
With thy blessed Right-hand.

And Liberty to us is given
To Worship without fear;
And with sweet Dews and Showers from Heav'n
Our Souls thou now dost chear.

We therefore glorifie thy Name
To whom all praise belongs,
And celebrate thy glorious Fame
With joy in holy Songs.