7 Blest is the nation, where the Lord
Hath fix'd his gracious throne;
Where he reveals his heav’nly word
And calls their tribes his own.

8 His eye, with infinite survey
Does the whole behold;
He form'd us all of equal clay
And knows our feeble mould.

9 Kings are not rescu'd by the force
Of armies from the grave;
Nor speed nor courage of a horse
Can his bold rider save.

10 Vain is the strength of beasts or men,
Nor springs our safety thence;
But holy souls from God obtain
A sure and strong defence.

11 God is their fear, and God their trust;
When plagues or famine spread,
His watchful eye secures the just,
Among ten thousand dead.

12 Lord, let our hearts in thee rejoice,
And bless us from thy throne;
For we have made thy word our choice;
And trust thy grace alone.