1 Awake, ye Saints: To praise your King,
Your sweetest Passions raise,
Your pious Pleasure, while you sing,
Increasing with the Praise.
2 Great is the Lord; and Works unknown
Are his divine Employ;
But still his Saints are near his Throne,
His Treasure and his Joy.
3 Heav'n, Earth, and Sea confess his Hand;
He bids the Vapours rise;
Lightning and Storm at his Command
Sweep through the sounding Skies.
4 All Pow'r that Gods or Kings have claim'd
Is found with him alone;
But Heathen Gods should ne'er be nam'd
Where our Jehovah's known.
5 Which of the Stocks or Stones they trust
Can give them Show'rs of Rain?
In vain they worship glitt'ring Dust,
And pray to Gold in vain.
6 [Their Gods have Tongues that cannot talk,
Such as their Makers gave;
Their Feet were ne'er design'd to walk;
Nor Hands have Pow'r to save.
7 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.]
8 O Britain! know thy living GOD,
Serve him with Faith and Fear;
He makes thy Churches his Abode,
And claims thine Honours there.
Text Information | |
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First Line: | Awake, ye Saints: To praise your King |
Title: | Praise due to GOD, not to Idols |
Meter: | Common Metre |
Language: | English |
Publication Date: | 1740 |
Scripture: | |
Topic: | Church: the house and care of God; Creation and Providence; Grace: and providence(6 more...) |
Notes: | Now Public Domain. |