Jehovah to my Lord thus spake,
Till I Thy foes Thy footstool make,;
Sit Thou in state at My right hand
God shall from Zion send abroad
O’er nations all Thy mighty rod;
Amid Thy foes Thy throne shall stand.
Thee, in Thy power’s triumphant day,
The willing nations shall obey,
And, when Thy rising beams they view,
Shall all, redeemed from error’s night,
Appear as numberless and bright,
As crystal drops of morning dew.
The Lord unchanging oath has made,
Melchizedek’s Thy priestly grade,;
In everlasting priesthood crowned
The sovereign Lord, at Thy right hand,
Shall strike thro’ princes of the land,
While awful anger flames around.
Among the heathen judge He will;
Unnumbered dead the land shall fill,
The nations’ chief shall smitten lie;
The brook that runneth in the way
His burning thirst shall slake that day,
And He shall lift His head on high.