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 wor­ship­ping 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!