O Lord, 'tis matter of high praise, Thy Word on us doth shine, But happy they who feel its rays, And glorious power divine. O let poor sinners feel their sin Prick them, as with a sword; And purge out all that filth within; So will we praise Thy Word. Enlightened souls have cause to sing, Who wounded were by Thee; True cause of joy to such doth spring; For they, Lord, heal?d be. And now in robes most richly decked, They to the King are brought; Surpassing angels, for have they A robe so richly wrought. We therefore throw our crowns below Thy high and glorious throne; And must all say, both night and day, Thou worthy art alone, All glory, power, and praise to have, By us forevermore; Thus let us sing unto our King, And Him in heart adore.