1 Jehovah, we in Hymns of Praise
thy matchless Grace adore.
That Grace that gave thy only Son;
what could'st thou give us more?
He's all in all: His Saints in Him
divine Perfection view;
'Tis of his Fulness they receive
all Grace and Glory too.
2 He freely gave his Blood, the Price
of our eternal Bliss:
Since no less could atone for Sin,
his Love would give no less.
He in the Wine-press of thy Wrath
for guilty men was crush'd;
Humbled himself to die, and laid
his Honour in the Dust.
3 That we might at his Table sit,
and be replenish'd there
With these dear pledges of his Grace,
'till we his Glory share.