I'll speak the honours of my King,

His form divinely fair;

None of the sons of mortal race

May with the Lord compare.

Sweet is thy speech and heavenly grace

Upon thy lips is shed;

Thy God, with blessings infinite,

Hath crown'd thy sacred head.

Gird on thy sword, victorious Prince,

Ride with majestic sway;

Thy terrors shall strike thro' thy foes,

And make the world obey.

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.

Justice and truth attend thee still

But mercy is thy choice;

And God, thy God, thy soul shall fill

With most peculiar joys.