Praise we all those ministers celestial,
Whom our dear Father chose
To be defenders of our nature frail,
Against our scheming toes.

For, since that from his glory in the skies,
Th' apostate Angel fell,
Burning with envy, evermore he tries,
to down our souls in hell.

Then draw near, watchful Spirit, bend your wing
Our country's Guardian blest!
Avert her threat'ning ills: expel each thing
That hinders her true rest.

Praise to the triune Majesty, whose strength
This mighty fabric sways:
whose glory reigns beyond the utmost length
Of everlasting days.