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Lord God in Heaven,
our Holy God who hears those who fear Him--

Approaching Thy throne through Christ Jesus
Whom the faithful praise, worship, and revere.
It is He who afforded us this opportunity
through His sacrificial work, His atoning death--
through thosedreadful hours He prayed Psalm 22,
enduring the hell of our sins, made sin for us
and commanded us through the apostle Paul to exercise it.

You have been this nation's Provider and Protector.
This country has been a light upon a hill --
different than the ungodly French and Germans.
We have had a Godly heritage --
now that is all threatened by the candidacy of ignoble men, ambitious, ruthless men of low character.
The faithful remnant who entreat Thee so earnestly in prayer (and those who embrace the Judeo-Christian ethic) face a reprobate and treasonous candidate --
and his impious, ungodly Sanhedrim of lawyers. It is not because of petty partisanship that we pray for that would be as wrong as to pray for a baseball team. --
No, it is because we see a stark contrast between good and evil.

We continue to turn our eyes to Thee and from our very depths pray for our President and his victory on Nov. 2. --
May he vanquish the children of Belial. May he defeat the defamer of the noble men who gave their lives fighting for freedom.
May he defeat the friend of the God-hating communists.

Our God, our help in ages past,
Our hope for years to come,
Our shelter from the stormy blast,
And our eternal home.

Under the shadow of Thy throne
Thy saints have dwelt secure;
Sufficient is Thine arm alone,
And our defense is sure.

Before the hills in order stood,
Or earth received her frame,
From everlasting Thou art God,
To endless years the same.

Thy Word commands our flesh to dust,
“Return, ye sons of men:”
All nations rose from earth at first,
And turn to earth again.

A thousand ages in Thy sight
Are like an evening gone;
Short as the watch that ends the night
Before the rising sun.

The busy tribes of flesh and blood,
With all their lives and cares,
Are carried downwards by the flood,
And lost in following years.

Time, like an ever rolling stream,
Bears all its sons away;
They fly, forgotten, as a dream
Dies at the opening day

Like flowery fields the nations stand
Pleased with the morning light;
The flowers beneath the mower’s hand
Lie withering ere ‘tis night.

Our God, our help in ages past,
Our hope for years to come,
Be Thou our guard while troubles last,
And our eternal home.

Amen.