8,8,8,8

I

Thou Saviour of our sinful race,

We sing the fulness of Thy grace;

Lord, as our songs in rapture soar,

On us Thy loving-kindness pour.

II

There is no merit of our own,

No plea to offer, save alone

That Thou hast died upon the tree,

To set our sin-bound spirits free.

III

O, when the world, in awful fear,

Beholds the Judge of all appear,

Be this our joy on that dread day,

That Christ hath borne our sins away.

IV

When in the land of bliss divine,

Our souls in robes of beauty shine,

This be our song before the throne,

Not ours the beauty, Thine alone.

V

To Thee, O God, be glory given,

And to the Christ, the King of heaven;

And to the Holy Spirit, blest,

Be praise for evermore exprest.