
Isaac Watts, 1674-1748
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I'll speak the honors of my King, His form divinely fair; None of his sons of mortal race May with the Lord compare.
2. Sweet is thy speech, and heav'nly grace |
3. Gird on thy sword, victorious Prince, Ride with majestic sway; Thy terrors shall strike through thy foes, And make the world obey.
4. Thy throne, O God, for ever stands; |
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5. Justice and truth attend thee still, But mercy is thy choice; And God, thy God, thy soul shall fill With most peculiar joys. |

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