Well, the Redeemer's gone

T' appear before our God;

To sprinkle o'er the flaming throne

With his atoning blood.

No fiery vengeance now,

Nor burning wrath comes down

If justice calls for sinners' blood,

The Savior shows his own.

Before his Father's eye

Our humble suit he moves;

The Father lays his thunder by,

And looks, and smiles, and loves.

Now may our joyful tongues

Our Maker's honor sing;

Jesus the Priest receives our songs,

And bears them to the King.

[We bow before his face,

And sound his glories high:

"Hosannah to the God of grace,

That lays his thunder by.]

"On earth thy mercy reigns,

And triumphs all above:"

But, Lord, how weak are mortal strains

To speak immortal love!

[How jarring and how low

Are all the notes we sing

Sweet Savior, tune our songs anew,

And they shall please the King.]