When rival nations, great in arms,
Great in power, in glory great,
Fill the world with loud alarms,
And breathe a temporary hate:
The hostile storms but rage awhile,
And the tir'd contest ends.
But ah! how hard to reconcile
The foes who once were friends.
Each hasty word, each look unkind,
Each distant hint, that seems to mean
A something lurking in the mind
That almost longs to lurk unseen;
Each shadow of a shade offends
Th' embittered foes who once were friends.

That Pow'r alone, who fram'd the Soul,
And bade the springs of passion play,
Can all their jarring strings controul;
And form, on discord, concord's sway.
'Tis He alone, whose breath of love
Did o'er the world of waters move—
Whose touch the mountain bends—
Whose word from darkness call'd forth light;
Tis He alone can reunite
The foes who once were friends.

To Him, O Britain! bow the knee.
His awful, his august decree,
Ye rebel tribes adore!
Forgive at once and be forgiven:
Ope in each breast a little heaven;
And discord is no more!