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56 The Book of Praise,
Plunged in a gulf of dark despair
We wretched sinners lay, Without one cheerful beam of hope,
Or spark of glimmering day.
With pitying eyes the Prince of Grace
Beheld our helpless grief: He saw, and oh! amazing love!
He ran to our relief.
Down from the shining seats above
With joyful haste He fled ; Entered the grave in mortal flesh,
And dwelt among the dead.
Oh! for this love, let rocks and hills
Their lasting silence break, And all harmonious human tongues
The Saviour's praises speak!
Angels, assist our mighty joys ;
Strike all your harps of gold! But, when you raise your highest notes,
His love can ne'er be told.
Isaac Watts. 1709.
O Lord, how good, how great art Thou, In heaven and earth the same !
There angels at Thy footstool bow, Here babes Thy grace proclaim,