Isaac Watts · 689 of 724

Hymn 11

Lord, how divine thy comforts are! How heav'nly is the place Where Jesus spreads the sacred feast Of his redeeming grace!

There the rich bounties of our God, And sweetest glories shine; There Jesus says that "I am his, And my Beloved's mine."

"Here," says the kind, redeeming Lord, And shows his wounded side; "See here the spring of all your joys That opened when I died."

[He smiles, and cheers my mournful heart, And tells of all his pain; 'All this," says he, "I bore for thee;" And then he smiles again.]

What shall we pay our heav'nly King For grace so vast as this? He brings our pardon to our eyes, And seals it with a kiss.

[Let such amazing loves as these Be sounded all abroad; Such favors are beyond degrees, And worthy of a God.]

To him that washed us in his blood Be everlasting praise; Salvation, honor, glory, power, Eternal as his days.]