Praise to the Saviour. Matt. 21. 9; Ps. 40. 7, 8

I. Watts     11s

I long for a concert of heavenly praise,
To Jesus, my God, the omnipotent Son!
My soul should awake in harmonious lays,
Could it tell half the wonders that Jesus has done.

I’d sing how he left his own mansions of light,
The robes made of glory that dressed him above,
Yet pleased with his journey and swift in his flight;
He came on the pinions of covenant love!

Quick down to the place of our distant abode,
He came, we adore him, to raise us on high;
He came to atone the dread justice of God,
And took up a life to be able to die!

All hell and its lions stood roaring around;
His flesh and his spirit with malice they tore,
While oceans of sorrow lay pressing him down,
As vast as the burden of guilt which he bore.

Fast bound in the chains of imperious death,
The Infinite Captive a prisoner lay;
The Infinite Captain arose from the earth,
And leaped to the hills of ethereal day!

Then mention no more of the vengeance of God,
The lions of hell, and their roaring no more;
We lift up our eyes to his shining abode;
Our loudest hosannas his name shall adore!

His conquest is crowned with the honours he won;
Hosanna through all the ethereal groves;
The God and the Man, how he fills up his throne!
How he shines! how he smiles! how he looks! how he loves!

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