O God of Hosts, our fathers’ God,

Thy blessing on our country shed,

Watch o’er the land our sires have trod,

Watch o’er the land our sons will tread.

We pray for our Jerusalem,

Keep discord from her homes afar,

Let thy strong arm deliver them

From famine, pestilence, and war.

Though Britain spurns th’ invader’s sword

As her white cliffs repulse the tide,

We would our grateful hearts, O Lord!

Lift up in praise, and not in pride.

The race is not unto the swift,

Nor is the battle to the strong;

Success and safety are Thy gift,

The glory must to Thee belong.