To him that loved the sons of men

And washed us in his blood,

To royal honors raised our heads,

And made us priests to God:

2 To him let every tongue be praise,

And every heart be love;

All grateful honors paid on earth,

And nobler songs above.

3 Behold, on flying clouds he comes!

His saints shall bless the day:

While they that pierced him sadly mourn,

In anguish and dismay.

4 Thou art the First and thou the Last;

Time centers all in thee;

Almighty Lord, who wast, and art,

And evermore shalt be.