HYMN XIX. FOR THE FLEET.
Most patient God, regard our prayer,
If all the riches of Thy grace
Can save the reprobates that dare
Provoke Thee daily to Thy face,
'Gainst highest heaven defiance breathe,
And rush upon eternal death.
Blasphemers of Thy awful name,
To Satan in one spirit join'd,
Our nation's and our nature's shame,
The scum, and refuse of mankind,
Whose horrid lives, and language, show
How kindred fiends converse below.
These are the bulwark of our land,
Our last resource in danger's hour!
But who shall quench the blazing brand,
The wretched slaves to Satan's power?
What arm can our defenders save,
Or pluck them from the fiery wave?
Answer, Thou bleeding Love Divine,
Whose word is to Thy rebels past;
The forces of the world are Thine,
And must be brought to God at last;
Thine is the' abundance of the sea:
Now, Lord, convert them all to Thee.
