All mor­tal va­ni­ties, be­gone,
Nor tempt my eyes, nor tire my ears;
Behold, amidst th’eter­nal throne,
A vi­sion of the Lamb ap­pears.

Glory His fleecy robe adorns,
Marked with the bloody death He bore;
Seven are His eyes, and se­ven His horns,
To speak His wis­dom and His pow­er.

Lo! He re­ceives a seal­èd book
From Him that sits up­on the throne;
Jesus, my Lord, pre­vails to look
On dark de­crees and things un­known.

All the as­sem­bling saints around
Fall wor­ship­ing be­fore the Lamb,
And in new songs of Gos­pel sound
Address their hon­ors to His name.

The joy, the shout, the har­mo­ny,
Flies o’er the ev­er­last­ing hills
Worthy art Thou alone, they cry,
To read the book, to loose the seals.

Our voic­es join the heav’n­ly strain,
And with trans­port­ing plea­sure sing,
Worthy the Lamb that once was slain,
To be our teach­er and our king!

His words of pro­phe­cy re­veal
Eternal coun­sels, deep de­signs;
His grace and ven­geance shall ful­fill
The peace­ful and the dread­ful lines.

Thou hast re­deemed our souls from hell
With Thine in­va­lu­able blood;
And wretch­es that did once re­bel
Are now made fa­vo­rites of their God.

Worthy for­ev­er is the Lord,
That died for trea­sons not His own,
By ev­ery tongue to be ad­ored,
And dwell up­on His Fa­ther’s throne!