Classic Poem

W ALWORTH Tune .

On earth the song begins,
In heav'n more sweet and loud,
To him that drowns our sins
In his atoning blood;
To him they cry, in rapt'rous strain,
" Be honour, praise, and pow'r. Amen!

Ye saints, on earth, repeat
What heav'n with rapture owns;
And while before his feet
The elders cast their crowns,
Imitate the choirs above,
Tell the world your Saviour's love.

Sing as ye pass along,
With joy and wonder sing,
Till sinners learn the song,
And own your Lord their King;
Converts join you as ye go,
Make a growing heav'n below.

Inform the list'ning world
How Jesus, when he fell,
The pow'rs of darkness hurl'd
Down to the deeps of hell;
Rising, bore the rescu'd prize,
Church, in triumph through the skies.

Alone he took the field,
Alone the battle fought;
With his own sword and shield
The mighty work he wrought.
Mighty work was all his own.
Let him ever wear the crown.

From heav'n, on wings of love,
The kind Deliv'rer came,
And left the joys above
To bear our sin and shame.
No hand but thine such work could do!
No heart but thine such love could shew!

How bright thy glories shine,
Redeemer of our race;
Thy honours are divine,
Divine thy sov'reign grace!
The grace that tunes our mortal tongues
To sound the notes which heav'n prolongs

Our feeble minds are lost
Beneath the lofty strain;
But, Jordan's billows crost,
We'll catch the sound again;
In praise assist th' angelic choir,
Nor ever stop, nor ever tire.