Omnipotent King, who reign­est on high,
Thy mer­cy we sing, Thy hat­ers de­fy;
We give Thee Thy glo­ry, though Sa­tan op­pose,
And glad­ly ad­ore Thee, in sight of Thy foes.

The rep­ro­bates dare their mas­ter pro­claim,
And loud­ly de­clare their sin and their shame;
Presumptuous in ev­il, their god they av­ow,
Their fa­ther the de­vil, and wor­ship him now.

And shall we not sing our mas­ter and Lord,
Our mak­er and king, by an­gels adored?
Our mer­ci­ful Sav­ior, who brought us to God,
And pur­chased us favor by shed­ding His blood.

Yes, Lord, we ad­ore, though all men de­ny,
And tell of Thy pow­er, tri­um­phant­ly nigh:
O Je­sus, we bless Thee, our rul­er pro­claim,
And glad­ly con­fess Thee, for ev­er the same.

In tu­mult and noise, we sing of Thy grace,
More migh­ty our joys, more hear­ty our praise;
Our tri­umphs are high­er, and warm­er our zeal,
And Thee ev­er nigh­er than Sa­tan we feel.

The sin­ners we see, who Sa­tan obey,
Much hap­pi­er we, much wis­er than they;
Our mast­er is great­er, He makes us His heirs,
And O how much bet­ter our wag­es than theirs!

Our Je­sus is near, when­ev­er we sing,
Among us we hear the shout of a king;
Our voic­es are strong­er than theirs who blas­pheme,
And sure­ly we long­er shall tri­umph than them.