1 Jesus the Lord, our souls adore,
A painful sufferer now no more;
High on his Father's throne he reigns
O'er earth and heav'ns extensive plains.

2 His race for ever is complete,
Forever undisturb'd his seat;
Myriads of angels round him fly,
And sing his well-gain'd victory.

3 Yet 'midst the honours of his throne,
He joys not for himself alone;
His meanest servants share their part,
Share in that royal tender heart.

4 Raise, raise, my soul, thy raptur'd sight,
With sacred wonder and delight;
Jesus thy own forerunner see
Enter'd beyond the veil for thee.

5 Loud let the howling tempest yell,
And foaming waves to mountains swell;
No shipwreck can my vessel fear,
Since hope hath fix'd its anchor here.