Classic Poem

Jesus, to thy great name we sing,
And own thee our immortal King;
Thy sceptre with delight obey,
While with thy sword we fight our way

While life remains we look to thee
For courage, strength, and liberty;
Alay our wants, from thy rich store,
Till we are fill'd, and want no more.

And when thy sweet, thy awful voice,
In death invites us to rejoice,
Thyself, O Saviour, strike the blow
That slays our last, our strongest foe!

Thou didst thyself perfume the grave,
From fear of death thy saints to save;
Our souls through Jordan's billows guide,
And stem the overwhelming tide!

Thyself conduct us to the land
There ransom'd saints adoring stand;
There bliss, a sea without a shore,
Forbids the blest to wish for more!