Great God! to what glorious height

Hast thou advanced the Lord thy Son!

Angels, in all their robes of light,

Are made the servants of his throne.

Before his feet their armies wait,

And swift as flames of fire they move

To manage his affairs of state,

In works of vengeance or of love.

His orders run through all their hosts,

Legions descend at his command

To shield and guard the British coasts,

When foreign rage invades our land.

Now they are sent to guide our feet

Up to the gates of thine abode,

Through all the dangers that we meet

In travelling the heav'nly road.

Lord, when I leave this mortal ground,

And thou shalt bid me rise and come,

Send a beloved angel down

Safe to conduct my spirit home.