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Majestic sweetness sits enthroned
upon the Savior's brow;
his head with radiant glories crowned,
his lips with grace o'erflow.
To Christ, the Lord, let every tongue
its noblest tribute bring
when he's the subject of the song,
who can refuse to sing?
Survey the beauties of his face,
and on his glories dwell;
think of the wonders of his grace,
and all his triumphs tell.
No mortal can with him compare
among the sons of men;
fairer is he than all the fair
who fill the heav'nly train.
He saw me plunged in deep distress
and flew to my relief;
for me he bore the shameful cross
and carried all my grief.
His hand a thousand blessings pours
upon my guilty head:
his presence gilds my darkest hours,
and guards my sleeping bed.
To him I owe my life and breath
and all the joys I have;
he makes me triumph over death
and saves me from the grave.
To heaven, the place of his abode,
he brings my weary feet;
shows me the glories of my God,
and makes my joys complete.
Since from his bounty I receive
such proofs of love divine,
had I a thousand hearts to give,
Lord, they should all be thine.