Scripture Verse

The name that is above every name. Philippians 2:9–11


Isaac Watts (1674–1748)

Words: Is­aac Watts, Hymns and Sac­red Songs 1709.

Music: Dar­wall’s 148th John Dar­wall, in The New Uni­vers­al Psal­mo­dist, by Aar­on Will­iams, 1770 (🔊 pdf nwc).

Alternate Tune:

If you know where to get a good pic­ture of Dar­wall (head & shoul­ders, at least 200×300 pix­els),


Join all the glo­ri­ous names
Of wis­dom, love, and pow­er,
That ev­er mor­tals knew,
That an­gels ev­er bore:
All are too mean to speak His worth,
Too mean to set my Sav­ior forth.

But O what gen­tle terms,
What con­des­cend­ing ways,
Doth our Re­deem­er use
To teach His heav’nly grace!
Mine eyes with joy and won­der see
What forms of love He bears for me.

Arrayed in mor­tal flesh,
He like an an­gel stands,
And holds the pro­mis­es
And par­dons in His hands;
Commissioned from His Fa­ther’s throne
To make His grace to mor­tals known.

Great Pro­phet of my God,
My tongue would bless Thy name,
By Thee the joy­ful news
Of our sal­va­tion came,
The joy­ful news of sin for­giv’n
Of hell sub­dued, and peace with Heav’n.

Be Thou my coun­se­lor,
My pat­tern, and my guide,
And through this de­sert land
Still keep me near thy side:
Nor let my feet e’er run as­tray
Nor rove nor seek the crook­ed way.

I love my shep­herd’s voice,
His watch­ful eyes shall keep
My wan­d’ring soul among
The thou­sands of His sheep:
He feeds His flock, He calls their names,
His bo­som bears the ten­der lambs.

To this dear sure­ty’s hand
Will I com­mit my cause;
He an­swers and ful­fills
His Fa­ther’s brok­en laws:
Behold my soul at free­dom set!
My sure­ty paid the dread­ful debt.

Jesus, my great high priest,
Offered His blood, and died;
My guil­ty con­science seeks
No sac­ri­fice be­side:
His po­wer­ful blood did once atone,
And now it pleads be­fore the throne.

My ad­vo­cate appears
For my de­fense on high;
The Fa­ther bows His ears,
And lays His thun­der by:
Not all that hell or sin can say
Shall turn His heart, His love away.

My dear al­migh­ty Lord,
My con­quer­or and my king,
Thy scep­ter and Thy sword,
Thy reign­ing grace I sing:
Thine is the pow­er; be­hold I sit
In will­ing bonds be­neath Thy feet.

Now let my soul arise,
And tread the tempt­er down;
My cap­tain leads me forth
To con­quest and a crown:
A fee­ble saint shall win the day,
Though death and hell ob­struct the way.

Should all the hosts of death,
And pow­ers of hell un­known,
Put their most dread­ful forms
Of rage and mis­chief on,
I shall be safe, for Christ dis­plays
Superior pow­er, and guard­ian grace.