Mighty God, while an­gels bless Thee,
May a mor­tal sing Thy name?
Lord of men as well as an­gels,
Thou art ev­ery crea­ture’s theme.
Lord of ev­ery land and na­tion,
Ancient of eter­nal days.
Sounded through the wide cre­ation
Be Thy just and end­less praise.

For the gran­deur of Thy na­ture,
Grand be­yond a ser­aph’s thought;
For the won­ders of cre­ation,
Works with skill and kind­ness wrought.
For Thy pro­vi­dence, that go­verns,
Through Thine em­pire’s wide do­main,
Wings an an­gel, guides a spar­row,
Blessèd be Thy gen­tle reign.

But Thy rich, Thy free re­demp­tion,
Dark through dark­ness all along;
Thought is poor, and poor ex­press­ion;
Who dare sing that won­drous song?
Brightness of the Fa­ther’s glo­ry,
Shall Thy praise un­ut­tered lie?
Fly, my tongue, such guil­ty si­lence;
Sing the Lord who came to die.

From the high­est throne of glo­ry
To the cross of deep­est woe,
All to ran­som guil­ty cap­tives;
Flow my praise, for ev­er flow!
Go, re­turn, im­mor­tal Sav­ior!
Leave Thy foot­stool, take Thy throne;
Thence re­turn, and reign for ev­er,
Be the king­dom all Thine own.