Who can for­bear to sing,
Who can re­fuse to praise,
When Zi­on’s high ce­les­ti­al king
His sav­ing pow­er dis­plays?

When sin­ners at His feet,
By mer­cy con­quered, fall;
When grace, and truth, and jus­tice meet,
And peace unites them all?

When that ter­ri­fic law
Which, from the blaz­ing mount,
Filled Is­ra­el’s trem­bling camp with awe,
Shows a dis­charged ac­count?

When the sweet Gos­pel found,
The sil­ver trump of Heav’n.
Proclaim, to con­trite souls around,
That all their sin’s for­giv’n?

When Heav’n’s ex­pand­ing gates
Invite the pil­grims’ feet,
And Je­sus, at their en­trance, waits
To place them on His seat?

Who can for­bear to praise
Our high ce­les­ti­al king,
When so­ver­eign, rich, re­deem­ing grace,
Invites our tongues to sing?