1 I'll speak the honours of my King, His form divinely fair; None of the sons of mortal race May with the Lord compare.
2 Sweet is thy speech and heavenly grace Upon thy lips is shed; Thy God, with blessings infinite, Hath crown'd thy sacred head.
3 Gird on thy sword, victorious Prince, Ride with majestic sway; Thy terrors shall strike thro' thy foes, And make the world obey.
4 Thy throne, O God, for ever stands; Thy word of grace shall prove A peaceful sceptre in thy hands, To rule the saints by love.
5 Justice and truth attend thee still But mercy is thy choice; And God, thy God, thy soul shall fill With most peculiar joys.