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.