In sweet ex­alt­ed strains,
The King of glo­ry praise;
O’er Heav’n and earth He reigns,
Thro’ ev­er­last­ing days:
He with a nod the world con­trols,
Sustains or sinks the dist­ant poles.

To earth He bends His throne,
His throne of grace di­vine;
Wide is His boun­ty known,
And wide His glo­ries shine:
Fair Sa­lem, still His chos­en rest,
Is with His smiles and pre­sence blest.

Then, King of glo­ry, come,
And with Thy fa­vor crown
This tem­ple as Thy dome,
This peo­ple as Thy own:
Beneath this roof, O deign to show,
How God can dwell with men be­low.

Here may Thine ears at­tend
Our in­ter­ced­ing cries,
And grate­ful praise as­cend
All frag­rant to the skies:
Here may Thy word me­lo­di­ous sound,
And spread the joys of Heav’n around.

Here may th’ at­tent­ive throng
Imbibe Thy truth and love,
And con­verts join the song
Of se­ra­phim ab­ove,
And will­ing crowds sur­round Thy board
With sac­red joy and sweet ac­cord.

Here may our un­born sons
And daugh­ters sound Thy praise,
And shine like pol­ished stones,
Thro’ long suc­ceed­ing days;
Here, Lord, dis­play Thy sav­ing pow­er,
While church­es stand, and men a­dore.