HYMN 27
L. M.
Praise ye him, all his angels. Psa. 148:2.
421 | God! the eternal, awful name That the whole heav'nly army fears, That shakes the wide creation's frame, And Satan trembles when he hears. | | Like flames of fire his servants are, And light surrounds his dwelling-place; But, O ye fiery flames! declare The brighter glories of his face. | | 'Tis not for such poor worms as we To speak so infinite a thing; But your immortal eyes survey The beauties of your sovereign King. | | Tell how he shows his smiling face, And clothes all heav'n in bright array; Triumph and joy run through the place, And songs eternal as the day. | | Speak, for you feel his burning love, What zeal it spreads through all your frame; That sacred fire dwells all above, For we on earth have lost the name. | | [Sing of his power and justice too, That infinite right hand of his That vanquished Satan and his crew, And thunder drove them down from bliss.] | | [What mighty storms of poisoned darts Were hurled upon the rebels there! What deadly jav'lins nailed their hearts Fast to the racks of long despair!] | | [Shout to your King, ye heav'nly host, You that beheld the sinking foe; Firmly ye stood when they were lost: Praise the rich grace that kept you so.] | | Proclaim his wonders from the skies, Let every distant nation hear; And while you sound his lofty praise, Let humble mortals bow and fear. | |