Hymns for the Thanksgiving-Day, 1759, 16

While Britam's sons their trophies raise,
Triumphant, as in full success.
And bliss without alloy.
Let pity for our bleeding foes.
Let love, which no distinction knows.
Correct the general joy.

Our country saved from sword and fire
Doth every Britoifs thanks require.
And lifts our hearts to God;
But can we. Lord, delight to see
These scenes of human misery.
This waste of Christian blood?
We mourn the slaughter'd sons of Gaul,
We tremble, while Thy judgments fall
On our invaders' head:
Their lives to ransom ours are given,
And crowds out of the body driven
Have perish'd in our stead.
The thousands whom our hands have slain,
Do we, alas! who still remain,
In holiness excel?
Our army, is it not, like theirs,
A bundle of devoted tares?
Our fleet, a floating hell?
We, even we, the scourge demand;
But in the gap a people stand
Poor, helpless, and unknown,
A little flock, a remnant small.
Afflicted and despised by all,
And loved of God alone.
Thou to the cry of Thine elect
Yet once again hast had respect.
And wouldst not vengeance take:
Thy wrath was ready to consume.
When mercy respited our doom
For the ten righteous' sake.
But is Thine anger turn'd aside,
Thy justice fully satisfied
With punishing our foe?
Thine ann appears extended still!
Which of Thine enemies shall feel
The next destructive blow?

We still the bloody harness wear;
The weajjon of the Lord is bare
Against our wickedness:
The sword Thou dost in vengeance send,
O when shall its commission end,
And wars for ever cease!

Saviour of men, through whom we live,
Do Thou the peaceful answer give
Stop this effusion of our blood,
Thou who hast quench'd the wrath of God,
By pouring out Thine own.

Repentance upon both bestow,
Our foes and us; that each may know
Their sins through faith forgiven.
That all may cordially embrace,
And sweetly reconciled by grace
Go hand in hand to heaven.