The Lord is King; He reigneth on His Throne; He calls the nations of the earth His own. His by creative power, preserving care, And by Redemption’s purchase - His they are. Yet other lords the earth’s dominion hold, And sway the sceptre o’er the Shepherd’s fold. Satan usurps the rightful Monarch’s reign, And Viceroys his authority maintain. Here PAGAN rules, as dark as gloomy night. There POPE prevails, and stays the rising light. The PAGAN world is bound in cruel chains, And o’er her sons a midnight darkness reigns. To stocks and stones the Heathen bend the knee, And only know to worship what they see. Their blood-stained rites, and cruel mysteries, Complete the records of their histories. No love, no peace, no hope, nor joy they have, Nor one faint gleam of light beyond the grave. No Word to guide, no Spirit’s grace to cheer; Their freedom, bondage; their religion, fear. All else is fair, but only these are vile. Nature! Come, bring thy choicest offering forth; Without thy God, what are thy children worth? Within his cave, the Giant POPE resides, And in the Chair Pontifical presides. An old, infirm, and weather-beaten man, In Rome he dwells; - his home the Vatican. Grown old in sin, and clothed upon with shame, He wield’s the torch of persecution’s flame, Besides, a two-edged Sword of steel he bears; A triple diadem of state he wears. The lawful power of kings he would restrain, And hold himself a universal reign. He grasps the things that were to Caesar given, Withholds from God the things that are of Heaven. From early seeds did this great power begin, And bloom’d and blossom’d in the Man of Sin; Shall rise in power, increase in swollen pride, Till like a millstone in the roaring tide, From giddy height, and eminence of sway, The growth of ages perish in a day. Prophets, Apostles, Martyrs, CHRIST, and all Declare that this great Babylon shall fall. The blood and dust and ashes of the slain, Demand the God of justice to maintain His righteous Cause; and cry - O Lord, how long. Wilt Thou delay to recompense our wrong? POPE still prevails - doth still his harvests reap; Has not been dead - has only been asleep. And from his sleep refresh’d, he wakes again, And seems in plenitude of power to reign.   Thy watchmen all arise, And fling one long deep prayer to yonder skies! Lift up thy voice, as with a trumpet sound, Until the earth re-echo and respond.   And all the world its grateful tribute bring. From persecuting power and Papal reign God save our Church! God save our gracious Queen! Proclaim the Lord, the Universal King, England awake!