414    11s     Isaac Watts
Praise to the Saviour. Matt. 21. 9; Ps. 40. 7, 8

1 I long for a concert of heavenly praise,
  To Jesus, my God, the omnipotent Son!
  My soul should awake in harmonious lays,
  Could it tell half the wonders that Jesus has done.

2 I’d sing how he left his own mansions of light,
  The robes made of glory that dressed him above,
  Yet pleased with his journey and swift in his flight;
  He came on the pinions of covenant love!

3 Quick down to the place of our distant abode,
  He came, we adore him, to raise us on high;
  He came to atone the dread justice of God,
  And took up a life to be able to die!

4 All hell and its lions stood roaring around;
  His flesh and his spirit with malice they tore,
  While oceans of sorrow lay pressing him down,
  As vast as the burden of guilt which he bore.

5 Fast bound in the chains of imperious death,
  The Infinite Captive a prisoner lay;
  The Infinite Captain arose from the earth,
  And leaped to the hills of ethereal day!

6 Then mention no more of the vengeance of God,
  The lions of hell, and their roaring no more;
  We lift up our eyes to his shining abode;
  Our loudest hosannas his name shall adore!

7 His conquest is crowned with the honours he won;
  Hosanna through all the ethereal groves;
  The God and the Man, how he fills up his throne!
  How he shines! how he smiles! how he looks! how he loves!