O Lord, ’tis matter of
high praise,
Thy Word on us doth
shine,
But happy they who feel
its rays,
And glorious power
divine.
O let poor
sinners feel their sin
Prick them, as with a
sword;
And purge out all that
filth within;
So will we praise Thy
Word.
Enlightened souls have
cause to sing,
Who wounded were by Thee;
True cause of joy to such
doth spring;
For they, Lord, healèd
be.
And now in robes most
richly decked,
They to the King are
brought;
Surpassing angels, for
have they
A robe so richly wrought.
We therefore throw our
crowns below
Thy high and glorious
throne;
And must all say, both
night and day,
Thou worthy art alone,
All glory, power, and
praise to have,
By us forevermore;
Thus let us sing unto our
King,
And Him in heart adore.
