1 Fair Sion's King, we suppliant bow,
And hail the grace thy church enjoys;
Her holy officers are thine
With all the gifts thy love employs.
2 Up to thy throne we lift our eyes,
For blessings to attend our choice,
Of such whose generous, prudent zeal,
Shall make thy favour'd ways rejoice.
3 Happy in Jesus, their own Lord,
May they his sacred table spread,
The table of their pastor fill,
And fill the holy poor with bread!
4 When pastor, saints, and poor they serve;
May their own hearts with grace be crown'd!
While patience, sympathy, and joy,
Adorn, and through their lives abound.
5 By purest love to Christ, and truth,
O may they win a good degree
Of boldness in the Christian faith,
And meet the smile of thine and thee!
6 And when the work to them assign'd--
The work of love, is fully done,
Call them from serving tables here,
To sit around thy glorious throne.
Source: Hymns, Selected and Original: for public and private worship (1st ed.) #593
|First Line:||Fair Zion's King, we suppliant bow|