What raised the won­drous thought,
Or who did it sug­gest,
That blood-bought saints to glo­ry brought
Should with the Son be blest?

Father, the thought was Thine,
And only Thine could be—
Fruit of the wis­dom, love di­vine,
Peculiar un­to Thee.

For, sure, no oth­er mind,
For thoughts so bold, so free,
Greatness or strength, could ev­er find;
Thine on­ly it could be.

The mo­tives, too, Thine own,
The plan, the coun­sel, Thine!
Made for Thy Son, bone of His bone,
In glo­ry bright to shine.

O God, with great de­light
Thy won­drous thought we see,
Upon His throne, in glo­ry bright
The bride of Christ shall be.

Sealed with the Ho­ly Ghost,
We tri­umph in that love,
Thy won­drous thought has made our boast
Glory with Christ above.