Father, I sing Thy won­drous grace,
I bless my Sav­ior’s name;
He bought sal­va­tion for the poor,
And bore the sin­ner’s shame.

His deep dis­tress has raised us high;
His du­ty and His zeal
Fulfilled the law which mor­tals broke,
And fin­ished all Thy will.

His dy­ing groans, His liv­ing songs,
Shall bet­ter please my God
Than harp or trum­pet’s so­lemn sound,
Than goats’ or bul­locks’ blood.

This shall His hum­ble fol­low­ers see,
And set their hearts at rest;
They by His death draw near to Thee,
And live for­ev­er blest.

Let Heav’n and all that dwell on high
To God their voic­es raise,
While lands and seas as­sist the sky,
And join t’ad­vance the praise.

Sion is Thine, most ho­ly God,
Thy Son shall bless her gates;
And glo­ry pur­chased by His blood
For Thy own Is­ra­el waits.