Sweet is the Work, My God, My King

Sweet is the work, my God, my king,
To praise Thy name, give thanks and sing,
To show Thy love by morn­ing light,
And talk of all Thy truth at night.

Sweet is the day of sac­red rest,
No mor­tal cares shall seize my breast;
O may my heart in tune be found
Like Da­vid’s harp of so­lemn sound!

My heart shall tri­umph in my Lord
And bless His works, and bless His Word.
Thy works of grace, how bright they shine!
How deep Thy coun­sels, how di­vine!

Fools nev­er raise their thoughts so high;
Like brutes they live, like brutes they die;
Like grass they flour­ish, till Thy breath
Blast them in ev­er­last­ing death.

But I shall share a glo­ri­ous part,
When grace has well re­fined my heart;
And fresh sup­plies of joy are shed,
Like ho­ly oil, to cheer my head.

Sin (my worst ene­my be­fore)
Shall vex my eyes and ears no more;
My in­ward foes shall all be slain,
Nor Sa­tan break my peace again.

Then shall I see, and hear, and know
All I de­sired and wished be­low;
And ev­ery pow­er find sweet em­ploy
In that eter­nal world of joy.

And then what tri­umphs shall I raise
To Thy dear name through end­less days,
For in the realms of joy I’ll see
Thy face in full fe­li­ci­ty.

Words: Isaac Watts, 1719.