In songs of sublime adoration and praise,
Ye pilgrims for Zion who press,
Break forth and extol the great Ancient of days,
His rich and distinguishing grace.

His love, from eternity fixed upon you,
Broke forth and discovered its flame,
When each with the cords of His kindness He drew,
And bro't you to love His great name.

Oh, had He not pitied the state you were in,
Your bosoms His love had ne'er felt;
You all would have lived, would have died, too, in sin,
And sunk with the load of your guilt.

What was there in you that could merit esteem,
Or give the Creator delight?
'Twas "even so, Father," you ever must sing,
"Because it seemed good in Thy sight."

'Twas all of Thy grace we were bro't to obey,
While others were suffered to go
The road which by nature we chose as our way,
Which leads to the regions of woe.

Then give all the glory to His holy name, To Him all the glory belongs; Be yours the high pleasure to sound forth His fame, And crown Him in each of your songs.