NOW to the Lord, Who makes us know The wonders of His dying love, Be humble honours paid below, And strains of nobler praise above.
’Twas He that cleansed our foulest sins, And washed us in His precious blood: ’Tis He that makes us priests and kings, And brings us rebels near to God.
To Jesus our atoning Priest, To Jesus our exalted King, Be everlasting power confessed, And every tongue His glory sing.
Behold, on clouds our Saviour comes, And every eye shall see Him move; Though with our sins we pierced Him once, Now He displays His pardoning love.
The unbelieving world shall wail, While we rejoice to see the Day; Come, Lord: nor let Thy promise fail, Nor let Thy coming long delay.
Isaac Watts, 1674-1748