From Heav’n the sin­ning angels fell,
And wrath and dark­ness chained them down;
But man, vile man, for­sook his bliss,
And mer­cy lifts him to a crown.

Amazing work of so­ve­reign grace
That could dis­ting­uish re­bels so!
Our guil­ty trea­sons called aloud
For ev­er­last­ing fet­ters, too.

To Thee, to Thee, Al­migh­ty Love,
Our souls, our­selves, our all we pay:
Millions of tongues shall sound Thy praise
On the bright hills of heav’n­ly day.