The Glory of Christ. Phil. 2. 10; Ps. 45. 1-7
I. Watts C.M.
1
O the delights, the heavenly joys,
The glories of the place,
Where Jesus sheds the brightest beams
Of his o’erflowing grace.
2
Sweet majesty and awful love
Sit smiling on his brow,
And all the glorious ranks above
At humble distance bow.
3
[Princes to his imperial name
Bend their bright sceptres down;
Dominions, thrones, and powers rejoice
To see him wear the crown.]
4
Blest angels sound his lofty praise
Through every heavenly street,
And lay their highest honours down,
Submissive at his feet.
5
[Those soft, those blessed feet of his,
That once rude iron tore,
High on a throne of light they stand,
And all the saints adore.]
6
[His head, the dear majestic head,
That cruel thorns did wound,
See what immortal glories shine,
And circle it around.]
7
This is the Man, the exalted Man,
Whom we, unseen, adore;
But when our eyes behold his face,
Our hearts shall love him more.
8
[Lord, how our souls are all on fire
To see thy blest abode!
Our tongues rejoice in tunes of praise
To our incarnate God.
9
And while our faith enjoys this sight,
We long to leave our clay;
And wish thy fiery chariots, Lord,
To fetch our souls away.]
