Cromwell, our cheif of men, who through a cloud

Cromwell, our cheif of men, who through a cloud Not of warr onely, but detractions rude, Guided by faith & matchless Fortitude, To peace & truth thy glorious way hast plough'd, And on the neck of crowned Fortune proud Hast reard Gods Trophies & his work pursu'd, While Darwen stream with blood of Scotts imbru'd,  And Dunbarr feild, resounds thy praises loud, And Worcesters laureat wreath; yet much remaines To conquer still; peace hath her victories No less renownd then warr, new foes arise Threatning to bind our souls with secular chaines: Helpe us to save free Conscience from the paw Of hireling wolves whose Gospell is their maw.