Ye that obey th' immortal king,
Attend his holy place,
Bow to the glories of his pow'r,
And bless his wondrous grace.
His wondrous grace.
Lift up your hands by morning light,
And send your souls on high;
Raise your admiring thoughts by night,
Above the starry sky.
The God of Sion cheers our hearts,
With rays of quick'ning grace;
The God that spread the heav'ns abroad,
And rules the swelling seas.
|First Line:||Ye that obey th' immortal king|
|Adobe Acrobat image:|
|Audio recording:||MP3 (made with MuseScore)|
|XML score:||MusicXML (made with MuseScore)|