O sweetly breathe the lyres above,

When angels touch the quivering string,

And wake, to chant Immanuel’s love,

Such strains as angel-lips can sing!

2 And sweet, on earth, the choral swell,

From mortal tongues, of gladsome lays;

When pardoned souls their raptures tell,

And, grateful, hymn Immanuel’s praise.

3 Jesus, thy name our souls adore;

We own the bond that makes us thine;

And carnal joys, that charmed before,

For thy dear sake we now resign.

4 Our hearts, by dying love subdued,

Accept thine offered grace to-day;

Beneath the cross, with blood bedewed,

We bow, and give ourselves away.

5 In thee we trust—on thee rely;

Though we are feeble, thou art strong;

O, keep us till our spirits fly

To join the bright, immortal throng!