Now be the God of Is­ra­el blessed,
Who makes His truth ap­pear;
His migh­ty hand ful­fills His Word,
And all the oaths He sware.

Now He be­dews old Da­vid’s Root
With bless­ings from the skies;
He makes the Branch of Pro­mise grow,
The pro­mised Horn arise.

John was a pro­phet of the Lord,
To go be­fore His face;
The her­ald which our Sav­ior God
Sent to pre­pare His way.

He makes the great sal­va­tion known,
He speaks of par­doned sins;
While grace di­vine, and heav’n­ly love,
In its own glo­ry shines.

Behold the Lamb of God, He cries,
“That takes our guilt away:
I saw the Spir­it o’er His head
On His bap­tiz­ing day.

“Be ev­ery vale ex­alt­ed high,
Sink ev­ery mount­ain low;
The proud must stoop, and hum­ble souls
Shall His sal­va­tion know.

“The hea­then realms with Is­ra­el’s land
Shall join in sweet ac­cord;
And all that’s born of man shall see
The glo­ry of the Lord.

Behold the Morn­ing-Star arise,
Ye that in dark­ness sit;
He marks the path that leads to peace,
And guides our doubt­ful feet.