Awake, Ye Saints; to Praise Your King

Awake

ye saints; to praise your king

Your sweet­est pas­sions raise

Your pi­ous plea­sure

while you sing

Increasing with the praise.

Great is the Lord

and works un­known

Are His di­vine em­ploy;

But still His saints are near His throne

His trea­sure and His joy.

Heav’n

earth

and sea con­fess His hand;

He bids the va­pors rise;

Lightning and storm at His com­mand

Sweep through the sound­ing skies.

All pow­er that gods or kings have claimed

Is found with Him alone;

But hea­then gods should ne’er be named

Where our Je­ho­vah’s known.

Which of the stock or stones they trust

Can give them show­ers of rain?

In vain they wor­ship glit­ter­ing dust

And pray to gold in vain.

Their gods have tongues that can­not talk

Such as their mak­ers gave;

Their feet were ne’er de­signed to walk

Nor hands have pow­er to save.

Blind are their eyes

their ears are deaf

Nor hear when mor­tals pray;

Mortals that wait for their re­lief

Are blind and deaf as they.

O na­tions

know thy liv­ing God

Serve Him with faith and fear;

He makes thy church­es His ab­ode

And claims thine hon­ors there.