Isaac Watts · 333 of 724

Psalm 147 Part 2

O Britain, praise thy mighty God, And make his honors known abroad, He bid the ocean round thee flow; Not bars of brass could guard thee so.

Thy children are secure and blest; Thy shores have peace, thy cities rest; He feeds thy sons with finest wheat, And adds his blessing to their meat.

Thy changing seasons he ordains, Thine early and thy latter rains; His flakes of snow like wool he sends, And thus the springing corn defends.

With hoary frost he strews the ground; His hail descends with clatt'ring sound: Where is the man so vainly bold That dares defy his dreadful cold?

He bids the southern breezes blow; The ice dissolves, the waters flow: But he hath nobler works and ways To call the Britons to his praise.

To all the isle his laws are shown, His gospel through the nation known; He hath not thus revealed his word To every land: praise ye the Lord.