O that I had a seraph's fire,
His rapturous song and golden lyre,
To chant the love and grace supreme,
Revealed as in the gospel scheme.
Here's pardon full, for sin that's past,
It matters not, how black their cast;
And, O my soul, with wonder view,
For sins to come, here's pardon too.
When Jesus died, their debts were paid,
Whose sin lay on this Scape Goat's head;
Was to the trackless desert drove,
And buried in eternal love.
In this abyss of love profound,
When sought for they shall not be found;
Hid from Jehovah's piercing eye,
There in oblivious shades they lie.
The nation, thus redeemed from sin,
Were chosen, loved and blest in him;
And while he lives, they ne'er shall die,
For they are his by covenant-tie.
Let saints prepare to crown his brow
With bright immortal trophies, now;
And let their songs record hos name,
His honours, and his deathless fame.
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