Glory to God, whose so­ve­reign grace
Hath ani­mat­ed sense­less stones;
Called us to stand be­fore His face,
And raised us in­to Ab­ra­ham’s sons!

The peo­ple that in dark­ness lay,
In sin and er­ror’s dead­ly shade,
Have seen a glo­ri­ous Gos­pel day,
In Je­sus’ love­ly face dis­played.

Thou on­ly, Lord, the work hast done,
And bared Thine arm in all our sight;
Hast made the rep­ro­bates Thine own,
And claimed the out­casts as Thy right.

Thy sin­gle arm, al­migh­ty Lord,
To us the great sal­va­tion brought,
Thy Word, Thy all-cre­at­ing Word,
That spake at first the world from naught.

For this the saints lift up their voice,
And cease­less praise to Thee is giv’n;
For this the hosts above re­joice,
We raise the hap­pi­ness of Heav’n.

For this, no long­er sons of night,
To Thee our thank­ful hearts we give;
To Thee, who called us in­to light,
To Thee we die, to Thee we live.

Suffice that for the sea­son past
Hell’s hor­rid lang­uage filled our tongues,
We all Thy words be­hind us cast,
And lewd­ly sang the drunk­ard’s songs.

But, O the pow­er of grace di­vine!
In hymns we now our voic­es raise,
Loudly in strange ho­san­nas join,
And blas­phe­mies are turned to praise!