Now be my heart in­spired to sing
The glo­ries of my Sav­ior-King,
Jesus the Lord; how heav’n­ly fair
His form! how bright His beau­ties are!

O’er all the sons of hu­man race
He shines with a su­pe­ri­or grace;
Love from His lips di­vine­ly flows,
And bless­ings all His state com­pose.

Dress Thee in arms, most migh­ty Lord,
Gird on the ter­ror of Thy sword,
In ma­jes­ty and glo­ry ride,
With truth and meek­ness at Thy side.

Thine an­ger like a point­ed dart,
Shall pierce the foes of stub­born heart;
Or words of mer­cy, kind and sweet,
Shall melt the re­bels at Thy feet.

Thy throne, O God, for ev­er stands,
Grace is the scep­ter in Thy hands;
Thy laws and works are just and right,
Justice and grace are Thy de­light.

God, Thine own God, has rich­ly shed
His oil of glad­ness on Thy head,
And with His sac­red Spi­rit blest
His first­born Son above the rest.