476    C.M.      Isaac Watts
The Glory of Christ. Phil. 2. 10; Ps. 45. 1-7

1 O the delights, the heavenly joys,
  The glories of the place,
  Where Jesus sheds the brightest beams
  Of his o’erflowing grace.

2 Sweet majesty and awful love
  Sit smiling on his brow,
  And all the glorious ranks above
  At humble distance bow.

3 [Princes to his imperial name
  Bend their bright sceptres down;
  Dominions, thrones, and powers rejoice
  To see him wear the crown.]

4 Blest angels sound his lofty praise
  Through every heavenly street,
  And lay their highest honours down,
  Submissive at his feet.

5 [Those soft, those blessed feet of his,
  That once rude iron tore,
  High on a throne of light they stand,
  And all the saints adore.]

6 [His head, the dear majestic head,
  That cruel thorns did wound,
  See what immortal glories shine,
  And circle it around.]

7 This is the Man, the exalted Man,
  Whom we, unseen, adore;
  But when our eyes behold his face,
  Our hearts shall love him more.

8 [Lord, how our souls are all on fire
  To see thy blest abode!
  Our tongues rejoice in tunes of praise
  To our incarnate God.

9 And while our faith enjoys this sight,
  We long to leave our clay;
  And wish thy fiery chariots, Lord,
  To fetch our souls away.]