Father, I Sing Thy Wondrous Grace

Father

I sing Thy won­drous grace

I bless my Sav­ior’s name;

He bought sal­va­tion for the poor

And bore the sin­ner’s shame.

His deep dis­tress has raised us high;

His du­ty and His zeal

Fulfilled the law which mor­tals broke

And fin­ished all Thy will.

His dy­ing groans

His liv­ing songs

Shall bet­ter please my God

Than harp or trum­pet’s so­lemn sound

Than goats’ or bul­locks’ blood.

This shall His hum­ble fol­low­ers see

And set their hearts at rest;

They by His death draw near to Thee

And live for­ev­er blest.

Let Heav’n and all that dwell on high

To God their voic­es raise

While lands and seas as­sist the sky

And join t’ad­vance the praise.

Sion is Thine

most ho­ly God

Thy Son shall bless her gates;

And glo­ry pur­chased by His blood

For Thy own Is­ra­el waits.