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To the Lord
General Cromwell
On the Proposals of Certain
Ministers of the Committee
for the Propagation of the
Gospel
Cromwell, our chief of men, who through a
cloud
Not of war only, but detractions rude,
Guided by faith and matchless fortitude,
To peace and
truth thy glorious way hast ploughed,
And on the neck
of crowned Fortune proud
Hast reared God's trophies,
and his work pursued,
While Darwen stream with blood
of Scots imbrued,
And Dunbar field resounds thy
praises loud,
And Worcester's laureate wreath. Yet
much remains
To conquer still; peace hath her
victories
No less renowned than war: new foes arise,
Threat'ning to bind our souls with secular chains:
Help us to save free conscience from the paw
Of
hireling wolves, whose gospel is their maw.
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