Psalm 86
v.8-13
C. M.
A general song of praise to God.
Among the princes, earthly gods,
There's none hath power divine;
Nor is their nature, mighty Lord,
Nor are their works, like thine.
The nations thou hast made shall bring
Their off'rings round thy throne;
For thou alone dost wondrous things,
For thou art God alone.
Lord, I would walk with holy feet;
Teach me thine heav'nly ways,
And my poor scattered thoughts unite
In God my Father's praise.
Great is thy mercy, and my tongue
Shall those sweet wonders tell,
How by thy grace my sinking soul
Rose from the deeps of hell.
poem by Isaac Watts
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Related quotes
Psalm 86
Thy gracious ear, O Lord, encline,
O hear me I thee pray,
For I am poor, and almost pine
With need, and sad decay.
Preserve my soul, for *I have trod Heb. I am good, loving,
Thy waies, and love the just, a doer of good and
Save thou thy servant O my God holy things
Who still in thee doth trust.
Pity me Lord for daily thee
I call; 4 O make rejoyce
Thy Servants Soul; for Lord to thee
I lift my soul and voice,
For thou art good, thou Lord art prone
To pardon, thou to all
Art full of mercy, thou alone
To them that on thee call.
Unto my supplication Lord
Give ear, and to the crie
Of my incessant praiers afford
Thy hearing graciously.
I in the day of my distress
Will call on thee for aid;
For thou wilt grant me free access
And answer, what I pray'd.
Like thee among the gods is none
O Lord, nor any works
Of all that other Gods have done
Like to thy glorious works.
The Nations all whom thou hast made
Shall come, and all shall frame
To bow them low before thee Lord,
And glorifie thy name.
For great thou art, and wonders great
By thy strong hand are done,
Thou in thy everlasting Seat
Remainest God alone.
Teach me O Lord thy way most right,
I in thy truth will hide,
To fear thy name my heart unite
So shall it never slide.
Thee will I praise O Lord my God
Thee honour, and adore
With my whole heart, and blaze abroad
Thy name for ever more.
For great thy mercy is toward me,
And thou hast free'd my Soul
Eev'n from the lowest Hell set free
From deepest darkness foul.
O God the proud against me rise
And violent men are met
To seek my life, and in their eyes
No fear of thee have set.
But thou Lord art the God most mild
Readiest thy grace to shew,
Slow to be angry, and art stil'd
Most mercifull, most true.
O turn to me thy face at length,
And me have mercy on,
Unto thy servant give thy strength,
And save thy hand-maids Son.
Some sign of good to me afford,
And let my foes then see
And be asham'd, because thou Lord
Do'st help and comfort me.
poem by John Milton
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Hymn II
O HOLY FATHER! just and true
Are all Thy works and words and ways,
And unto Thee alone are due
Thanksgiving and eternal praise!
As children of Thy gracious care,
We veil the eye, we bend the knee,
With broken words of praise and prayer,
Father and God, we come to Thee.
For Thou hast heard, O God of Right,
The sighing of the island slave;
And stretched for him the arm of might,
Not shortened that it could not save.
The laborer sits beneath his vine,
The shackled soul and hand are free;
Thanksgiving! for the work is Thine!
Praise! for the blessing is of Thee!
And oh, we feel Thy presence here,
Thy awful arm in judgment bare!
Thine eye hath seen the bondman's tear;
Thine ear hath heard the bondman's prayer.
Praise! for the pride of man is low,
The counsels of the wise are naught,
The fountains of repentance flow;
What hath our God in mercy wrought?
Speed on Thy work, Lord God of Hosts!
And when the bondman's chain is riven,
And swells from all our guilty coasts
The anthem of the free to Heaven,
Oh, not to those whom Thou hast led,
As with Thy cloud and fire before,
But. unto Thee, in fear and dread,
Be praise and glory evermore.
poem by John Greenleaf Whittier
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Psalm 116 part 2
v.12ff
C. M.
Vows made in trouble paid in the church.
What shall I render to my God
For all his kindness shown?
My feet shall visit thine abode,
My songs address thy throne.
Among the saints that fill thine house
My off'rings shall be paid;
There shall my zeal perform the vows
My soul in anguish made.
How much is mercy thy delight,
Thou ever-blessed God!
How dear thy servants in thy sight!
How precious is their blood!
How happy all thy servants are!
How great thy grace to me!
My life, which thou hast made thy care,
Lord, I devote to thee.
Now I am thine, for ever thine,
Nor shall my purpose move
Thy hand hath loosed my bonds of pain,
And bound me with thy love.
Here in thy courts I leave my vow,
And thy rich grace record;
Witness, ye saints, who hear me now,
If I forsake the Lord.
poem by Isaac Watts
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Psalm 8
God's sovereignty and goodness.
O Lord, our heav'nly King,
Thy name is all divine;
Thy glories round the earth are spread,
And o'er the heav'ns they shine.
When to thy works on high
I raise my wondering eyes,
And see the moon, complete in light,
Adorn the darksome skies
When I survey the stars,
And all their shining forms,
Lord, what is man, that worthless thing,
Akin to dust and worms?
Lord, what is worthless man,
That thou shouldst love him so?
Next to thine angels is he placed,
And lord of all below.
Thine honors crown his head,
While beasts, like slaves, obey;
And birds that cut the air with wings,
And fish that cleave the sea.
How rich thy bounties are!
And wondrous are thy ways
Of dust and worms thy power can frame
A monument of praise.
[Out of the mouths of babes
And sucklings thou canst draw
Surprising honors to thy name,
And strike the world with awe.
O Lord, our heav'nly King,
Thy name is all divine;
Thy glories round the earth are spread,
And o'er the heav'ns they shine.]
poem by Isaac Watts
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The Mediator
O Christ, true Son of God most high,
Thy name we praise for ever;
Whoe'er to Thee for help doth cry
Shall find Thee fail him never;
'Tis Thou wilt plead,
Thou intercede
With God, for us who need Thy prayers so sore:
Thy bitter strife
Hath wrought us life,
And Thine be thanks and praise for evermore!
To Thee the Father giveth now
All power in earth and heaven;
Sin, Satan, Death to Thee must bow,
All fetters Thou hast riven,
Bade fear to cease,
And made our peace,
That now to God we dare our hearts outpour:
Thy bitter strife
Hath wrought us life,
And Thine be thanks and praise for evermore!
Fulness of grace is in Thy Word;
The Life, the Truth, the Way
To life eternal art Thou, Lord;
To Thee alone we pray,
Who didst appear
A servant here
To bear the sin that crushed the world before:
Thy bitter strife
Hath wrought us life,
And Thine be thanks and praise for evermore!
poem by Hans Sachs
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Sweet empty sky of June without a stain,
O Lord, the hope of Israel, all they that forsake
Thee shall be ashamed ; and they that depart from
Thee, shall be written in the earth, because they have
forsaken the Lord, the fountain of living waters.
Heal me, O Lord, and I shall be healed ; save me,
and I shall be saved, for Thou art my health, and my
great deliverer.
I said in the cutting off of my days, I shall go to
the gates of the grave ; I have deprived myself of the
residue of my years.
I said, I shall not see the Lord, even the Lord in the
land of the living : I shall behold man no more with
the inhabitants of the world.
O Lord ! by Thee doth man live, and from Thee is
the life of my spirit : therefore wilt Thou recover me,
and make me to live.
Thou hast in love to my soul delivered it from the
pit of corruption ; for Thou hast cast all my sins
behind Thy back.
For Thy name's sake hast Thou put off thine anger ;
for Thy praise hast Thou refrained from me, that I
should not be cut off.
For the grave cannot praise Thee, death cannot
celebrate Thee : they that go down into the pit, cannot
hope for Thy truth.
The living, the living, he shall praise Thee, as I do
this day : the father to the children shall make known
Thy truth.
O Lord ! Thou hast been merciful, Thou hast
brought back my life from corruption : Thou hast
redeemed me from my sin.
They that follow after lying vanities, forsake their
own mercy.
Therefore shall Thy songs be with me, and my
prayer unto the God of my life.
I will go unto the altar of my God, unto God, the
joy of my youth ; and in Thy fear will I worship
towards Thy holy temple.
I will sacrifice unto Thee with the voice of thanks-
giving ; I will pay that which I have vowed ; sal-
vation is of the Lord.
poem by Henry Vaughan
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Thou Dost Not Know
Thou dost not know it! but to hear
One word of praise from thee,
There is no pain I would not bear,
No task too great for me.
My hands could tireless toil all day,
My feet could tireless run,
If at the close thy lips would say,
'Brave, noble heart, well done.'
* * * * *
Thou dost not know it! but to win
Approval from thine eyes,
My soul has conquered many a sin,
And conquering neared the skies.
And though the reward may not be given,
In all my earthly days,
I feel that after death, in heaven,
Thy lips will give me praise.
* * * * *
Thou dost not know, may never know,
That all I strive to be,
All things praiseworthy that I do,
I strive, and do, for thee.
And though I seldom see thy face,
Or touch thy hand, my friend,
Those meetings are the means of grace,
That help me to the end.
* * * * *
Thou dost not know that thy grand life
Has been my beacon light.
I aim to conquer in the strife,
That I may reach thy height.
I strive to live, so that my feet
May walk the fields most fair,
For the after-life, seems, oh! so sweet,
Because thou wilt be there.
* * * * *
Thou dost not know how brave and strong
A woman's heart can be.
But few could hide so well and long
What mine has hid from thee.
So well, that should this idyl chance
To meet thine eye, my friend,
Thou'd scan it with a careless glance,
Nor dream to whom 'twas penned.
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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Hymn XXVI: I Thirst, Thou Wounded Lamb of God
I thirst, thou wounded Lamb of God,
To wash me in thy cleansing blood,
To dwell within thy wounds; then pain
Is sweet, and life or death is gain.
Take my poor heart, and let it be
For ever closed to all but thee!
Seal thou my breast, and let me we;
That pledge of love for ever there!
How blest are they who still abide
Close sheltered in thy bleeding side,
Who life and strength from thence derive,
And by thee move, and in thee live.
What are our works but sin and death,
Till thou thy quickening Spirit breathe!
Thou giv'st the power thy grace to move;
O wondrous grace! O boundless love!
How can it be, thou heavenly King,
That thou shouldst us to glory bring?
Make slaves the partners of thy throne,
Decked with a never-fading crown?
Hence our hearts melt, our eyes o'erflow,
Our words are lost; nor will we know,
Nor will we think of aught beside,
'My Lord, my Love is crucified.'
Ah, Lord! enlarge our scanty thought,
To know the wonders thou hast wrought;
Unloose our stammering tongues, to tell
Thy love immense, unsearchable.
First-born of many brethren thou!
To thee, lo! all our souls we bow:
To thee our hearts and hands we give:
Thine may we die, thine may we live!
poem by Charles Wesley
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Why Art Thou Thus Cast Down, My Heart?
Why art thou thus cast down, my heart?
Why troubled, why dost mourn apart,
O'er nought but earthly wealth?
Trust in thy God, be not afraid,
He is thy Friend who all things made.
Dost think thy prayers He doth not heed?
He knows full well what thou dost need,
And heaven and earth are His;
My Father and my God, who still
Is with my soul in every ill.
Since Thou my God and Father art,
I know Thy faithful loving heart
Will ne'er forget Thy child;
See I am poor, I am but dust,
On earth is none whom I can trust.
The rich man in his wealth confides,
But in my God my trust abides;
Then laugh ye as ye will,
I hold this fast that He hath taught,--
Who trusts in God shall want for nought.
Yes, Lord, Thou art as rich to-day
As Thou hast been and shalt be aye,
I rest on Thee alone;
Thy riches to my soul be given,
And 't is enough for earth and heaven.
What here may shine I all resign,
If the eternal crown be mine,
That through Thy bitter death
Thou gainedst, O Lord Christ, for me--
For this, for this, I cry to Thee!
All wealth, all glories, here below,
The best that this world can bestow,
Silver or gold or lands,
But for a little time is given,
And helps us not to enter heaven.
I thank Thee, Christ, Eternal Lord,
That Thou hast taught me by Thy word
To know this truth and Thee;
O grant me also steadfastness
Thy heavenly kingdom not to miss.
Praise, honour, thanks, to Thee be brought,
For all things in and for me wrought
By Thy great mercy, Christ.
This one thing only still I pray,
Oh cast me ne'er from Thee away
poem by Hans Sachs
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Hymn XXVI: I Thirst, Thou Wounded Lamb of God
I thirst, thou wounded Lamb of God,
To wash me in thy cleansing blood,
To dwell within thy wounds; then pain
Is sweet, and life or death is gain.
Take my poor heart, and let it be
For ever closed to all but thee!
Seal thou my breast, and let me we;
That pledge of love for ever there!
How blest are they who still abide
Close sheltered in thy bleeding side,
Who life and strength from thence derive,
And by thee move, and in thee live.
What are our works but sin and death,
Till thou thy quickening Spirit breathe!
Thou giv'st the power thy grace to move;
O wondrous grace! O boundless love!
How can it be, thou heavenly King,
That thou shouldst us to glory bring?
Make slaves the partners of thy throne,
Decked with a never-fading crown?
Hence our hearts melt, our eyes o'erflow,
Our words are lost; nor will we know,
Nor will we think of aught beside,
"My Lord, my Love is crucified."
Ah, Lord! enlarge our scanty thought,
To know the wonders thou hast wrought;
Unloose our stammering tongues, to tell
Thy love immense, unsearchable.
First-born of many brethren thou!
To thee, lo! all our souls we bow:
To thee our hearts and hands we give:
Thine may we die, thine may we live!
poem by John Wesley
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Psalm 145 part 1
v.1-7,11-13
C. M.
The greatness of God.
Long as I live I'll bless thy name,
My King, my God of love;
My work and joy shall be the same
In the bright world above.
Great is the Lord, his power unknown,
And let his praise be great;
I'll sing the honors of thy throne,
Thy works of grace repeat.
Thy grace shall dwell upon my tongue;
And while my lips rejoice,
The men that hear my sacred song
Shall join their cheerful voice.
Fathers to sons shall teach thy name,
And children learn thy ways;
Ages to come thy truth proclaim,
And nations sound thy praise.
Thy glorious deeds of ancient date
Shall through the world be known;
Thine arm of power, thy heav'nly state,
With public splendor shown.
The world is managed by thy hands,
Thy saints are ruled by love;
And thine eternal kingdom stands,
Though rocks and hills remove.
poem by Isaac Watts
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Psalm 21
Our king is the care of Heaven.
The king, O Lord, with songs of praise,
Shall in thy strength rejoice;
And, blest with thy salvation, raise
To heav'n his cheerful voice.
Thy sure defence through nations round
Has spread his glorious name;
And his successful actions crowned
With majesty and fame.
Then let the king on God alone
For timely aid rely;
His mercy shall support the throne,
And all our wants supply.
But, righteous Lord, his stubborn foes
Shall feel thy dreadful hand;
Thy vengeful arm shall find out those
That hate his mild command.
When thou against them dost engage,
Thy just but dreadful doom
Shall, like a fiery oven's rage,
Their hopes and them consume.
Thus, Lord, thy wondrous power declare,
And thus exalt thy fame;
Whilst we glad songs of praise prepare
For thine almighty name.
poem by Isaac Watts
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Psalm 08
Aug. 14. 1653.
O Jehovah our Lord how wondrous great
And glorious is thy name through all the earth?
So as above the Heavens thy praise to set
Out of the tender mouths of latest bearth,
Out of the mouths of babes and sucklings thou
Hast founded strength because of all thy foes
To stint th'enemy, and slack th'avengers brow
That bends his rage thy providence to oppose.
When I behold thy Heavens, thy Fingers art,
The Moon and Starrs which thou so bright hast set,
In the pure firmament, then saith my heart,
O What is man that thou remembrest yet,
And think'st upon him; or of man begot
That him thou visit'st and of him art found;
Scarce to be less then Gods, thou mad'st his lot,
With honour and with state thou hast him crown'd.
O're the works of thy hand thou mad'st him Lord,
Thou hast put all under his lordly feet,
All Flocks, and Herds, by thy commanding word,
All beasts that in the field or forrest meet.
Fowl of the Heavens, and Fish that through the wet
Sea-paths in shoals do slide. And know no dearth.
O Jehovah our Lord how wondrous great
And glorious is thy name through all the earth.
poem by John Milton
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Bowed With a Sense of Sin
Bowed with a sense of sin, I faint
Beneath the complicated load;
Father, attend my deep complaint,
I am Thy creature, Thou my God.
Though I have broke Thy righteous law,
Yet with me let Thy Spirit stay;
Thyself from me do not withdraw,
Nor take my spark of hope away.
Mercy unlimited is Thine;
God of the penitent Thou art;
The saving power of blood divine
Shall ease the anguish of my heart.
Then let not sin my ruin be,
Gives me in Thee my rest to find:
Jesus, the sick have need of Thee,-
Thou great Physician of mankind.
In my salvation, Lord, display
The triumphs of abounding grace;
Tell me my guilt is done away,
And turn my mourning into praise.
Then shall I add my feeble song
To theirs who chant Thy praise on high,
And spread with an immortal tongue
Thy glory through the echoing sky.
poem by Augustus Montague Toplady
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The Rebel's Surrender To Grace (Lord, What Wilt Thou Have Me to Do?)
Lord, thou hast won, at length I yield,
My heart, by mighty grace compelled,
Surrenders all to thee;
Against thy terrors long I strove,
But who can stand against thy love?
Love conquers even me.
All that a wretch could do, I tried,
Thy patience scorned, thy pow'r defied,
And trampled on thy laws;
Scarcely thy martyrs at the stake,
Could stand more steadfast for thy sake,
Than I in Satan's cause.
But since thou hast thy love revealed,
And shown my soul a pardon sealed,
I can resist no more:
Couldst thou for such a sinner bleed?
Canst thou for such a rebel plead?
I wonder and adore!
If thou hadst bid thy thunders roll,
And lightnings flash to blast my soul,
I still had stubborn been:
But mercy has my heart subdued,
A bleeding Saviour I have viewed,
And now, I hate my sin.
Now, Lord, I would be thine alone,
Come take possession of thine own,
For thou hast set me free
Released from Satan's hard commands
See all my powers waiting stand,
To be employed by thee.
My will conformed to thine would move,
On thee my hope, desire, and love,
In fixed attention join;
My hands, my eyes, my ears, my tongue,
Have Satan's servants been too long,
But now they shall be thine.
And can I be the very same,
Who lately durst blaspheme thy name;
And on thy gospel tread?
Surely each one, who hears my case,
Will praise thee, and confess thy grace
Invincible indeed!
poem by John Newton
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Psalm 44
v.1-8,8,15-26
C. M.
The church's complaint in persecution.
Lord, we have heard thy works of old,
Thy works of power and grace,
When to our ears our fathers told
The wonders of their days.
How thou didst build thy churches here,
And make thy gospel known;
Amongst them did thine arm appear,
Thy light and glory shone.
In God they boasted all the day,
And in a cheerful throng
Did thousands meet to praise and pray,
And grace was all their song.
But now our souls are seized with shame,
Confusion fills our face,
To hear the enemy blaspheme,
And fools reproach thy grace.
Yet have we not forgot our God,
Nor falsely dealt with heav'n,
Nor have our steps declined the road
Of duty thou hast giv'n;
Though dragons all around us roar
With their destructive breath,
And thine own hand has bruised us sore
Hard by the gates of death.
PAUSE.
We are exposed all day to die
As martyrs for thy cause,
As sheep for slaughter bound we lie
By sharp and bloody laws.
Awake, arise, Almighty Lord,
Why sleeps thy wonted grace?
Why should we look like men abhorred
Or banished from thy face?
Wilt thou for ever cast us off,
And still neglect our cries?
For ever hide thine heav'nly love
From our afflicted eyes?
Down to the dust our soul is bowed,
And dies upon the ground;
Rise for our help, rebuke the proud,
And all their powers confound.
Redeem us from perpetual shame,
Our Savior and our God;
We plead the honors of thy name,
The merits of thy blood.
poem by Isaac Watts
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A Thanksgiving Poem
The sun hath shed its kindly light,
Our harvesting is gladly o'er
Our fields have felt no killing blight,
Our bins are filled with goodly store.
From pestilence, fire, flood, and sword
We have been spared by thy decree,
And now with humble hearts, O Lord,
We come to pay our thanks to thee.
We feel that had our merits been
The measure of thy gifts to us,
We erring children, born of sin,
Might not now be rejoicing thus.
No deed of ours hath brought us grace;
When thou were nigh our sight was dull,
We hid in trembling from thy face,
But thou, O God, wert merciful.
Thy mighty hand o'er all the land
Hath still been open to bestow
Those blessings which our wants demand
From heaven, whence all blessings flow.
Thou hast, with ever watchful eye,
Looked down on us with holy care,
And from thy storehouse in the sky
Hast scattered plenty everywhere.
Then lift we up our songs of praise
To thee, O Father, good and kind;
To thee we consecrate our days;
Be thine the temple of each mind.
With incense sweet our thanks ascend;
Before thy works our powers pall;
Though we should strive years without end,
We could not thank thee for them all.
poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar
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Psalm VIII: O Lord, Our Lord
O Lord, our Lord, how wondrous great
Is thine exalted name!
The glories of thy heav'nly state
Let men and babes proclaim.
When I behold thy works on high
The moon that rules the night,
And stars that well adorn the sky,
Those moving worlds of light.
Lord, what is man, or all his race,
Who dwells so far below,
That thou should visit him with grace,
And love his nature so?
That thine eternal Son should bear
To take a mortal form;
Made lower than His angels are,
To save a dying worm?
Yet while He lived on earth unknown,
And men would not adore,
The obedient seas and fishes own
His Godhead and his power.
The waves lay spread beneath His feat;
And fish, at his command,
Bring their large shoals to Peter's net,
Bring tribute to his hand.
Those lesser glories of the son
Shone through the fleshly cloud;
Now, we behold Him on His throne,
And men confess Him God.
Let Him be crowned with majesty,
Who bowed His head to death;
And be His honors sounded high,
By all things that have breath.
Jesus, our Lord, how wondrous great
Is thine exalted name!
The glories of thy heavenly state
Let the whole earth proclaim.
poem by Isaac Watts
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Psalm 88
Lord God that dost me save and keep,
All day to thee I cry;
And all night long, before thee weep
Before thee prostrate lie.
Into thy presence let my praier
With sighs devout ascend
And to my cries, that ceaseless are,
Thine ear with favour bend.
For cloy'd with woes and trouble store
Surcharg'd my Soul doth lie,
My life at death's uncherful dore
Unto the grave draws nigh.
Reck'n'd I am with them that pass
Down to the dismal pit
I am a *man, but weak alas * Heb. A man without manly
And for that name unfit. strength.
From life discharg'd and parted quite
Among the dead to sleep
And like the slain in bloody fight
That in the grave lie deep.
Whom thou rememberest no more,
Dost never more regard,
Them from thy hand deliver'd o're
Deaths hideous house hath barr'd.
Thou in the lowest pit profound'
Hast set me all forlorn,
Where thickest darkness hovers round,
In horrid deeps to mourn.
Thy wrath from which no shelter saves
Full sore doth press on me;
*Thou break'st upon me all thy waves, *The Heb.
*And all thy waves break me bears both.
Thou dost my friends from me estrange,
And mak'st me odious,
Me to them odious, for they change,
And I here pent up thus.
Through sorrow, and affliction great
Mine eye grows dim and dead,
Lord all the day I thee entreat,
My hands to thee I spread.
Wilt thou do wonders on the dead,
Shall the deceas'd arise
And praise thee from their loathsom bed
With pale and hollow eyes ?
Shall they thy loving kindness tell
On whom the grave hath hold,
Or they who in perdition dwell
Thy faithfulness unfold?
In darkness can thy mighty hand
Or wondrous acts be known,
Thy justice in the gloomy land
Of dark oblivion?
But I to thee O Lord do cry
E're yet my life be spent,
And up to thee my praier doth hie
Each morn, and thee prevent.
Why wilt thou Lord my soul forsake,
And hide thy face from me,
That am already bruis'd, and *shake *Heb. Prae Concussione.
With terror sent from thee;
Bruz'd, and afflicted and so low
As ready to expire,
While I thy terrors undergo
Astonish'd with thine ire.
Thy fierce wrath over me doth flow
Thy threatnings cut me through.
All day they round about me go,
Like waves they me persue.
Lover and friend thou hast remov'd
And sever'd from me far.
They fly me now whom I have lov'd,
And as in darkness are.
poem by John Milton
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Psalm 118 part 4
v.24-26
C. M.
Hosanna; the Lord's day; or, Christ's resurrection and our salvation.
This is the day the Lord hath made,
He calls the hours his own;
Let heav'n rejoice, let earth be glad,
And praise surround the throne.
Today he rose and left the dead,
And Satan's empire fell;
Today the saints his triumphs spread,
And all his wonders tell.
Hosanna to th' anointed King,
To David's holy Son;
Help us, O Lord; descend and bring
Salvation from thy throne.
Blest be the Lord, who comes to men
With messages of grace;
Who comes in God his Father's name
To save our sinful race.
Hosanna in the highest strains
The church on earth can raise;
The highest heav'ns, in which he reigns,
Shall give him nobler praise.
poem by Isaac Watts
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