Hymn 207

WHy do the Heathen Gentiles rage,
And foolish things surmize?
Kings set themselves against the Lord,
And do his Christ despise.

His gracious Government they count
Their Yoke, his Laws their Chain;
Freedom they'll have without controll,
No Bands shall them restrain;

But God above will scorn their rage,
Their vain attempts deride;
He will affright them in his wrath,
Vex and defeat their pride.

For all their spite I've set my King
Upon his holy Throne;
And what I had decreed before,
Proclaim'd him now my Son.

This is the Birth-day of his Rule,
Thy Scepter I'll advance
Or'e all the Earth, the Gentiles give
For thine Inheritance.

Thou with an Iron Rod shalt bruise
Their disobedient Neck;
Like brittle Potsherds all their Pow'rs
Without resistance break.

Let the great Rulers of the Earth
This greater Lord obey;
Serve him with chearful willingness,
And fear him too each day.

In low submission to the Son
Your happiness does lye;
Then ye are safe when he's well-pleas'd;
When he's provok'd, ye die.