Isaac Watts, 1674-1748
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;
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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