Shine, Britain! Shine! Thy virtues we commend;
Thy light to distant nations shall extend.
A city on a hill cannot be hid,
Nor can'st thou be, while Heav'n lifts up thy head.
Shine, Britain! Shine! O send the bible forth,
To each benighted corner of the earth;
Till all with joy its richest blessings taste,
And share with us the glorious Gospel Feast.
O happy people! Highly favour'd Isle!
Which shares the sunshine of Jehovah's smile.
The scenes thy sons and daughters have enjoy'd,
Kings have desir'd to see, but were denied.
We hope the sound of discord soon will cease,
And angels sing a universal peace!
When barren lands with plenty shall abound,
And Christ be worshipp'd the wide world around.
At thoughts of this the lonely desert sings,
To see his altars throng'd with prostrate Kings;
To see great men of honour and renown,
Cast off the coronet to wear a crown!
Hasten, O Lord, the long—long wish'd for day,
When favour'd with thy truth's enlightening ray,
Poor Hottentots shall raise the song divine,
And savage Turks, the heav'nly concert join.
When Blacks and Whites, a vast redeemed throng,
Shall all unite to swell the mighty song;
Worship one God, and hail Him Lord and King,
Through the whole world the Saviour's praises sing.