1 Behold what wond'rous Grace
the Father has bestow'd
On Sinners of a Mortal Race,
to call them Sons of God!
'Tis no surprizing Thing,
that we should be unknown;
The Jewish World knew not their King,
God's everlasting Son:

2 Nor doth it yet appear
how great we must be made;
But when we see our Saviour here
we shall be like our Head.
A Hope so much divine
may Trials well endure,
May purge our Souls from Sense and Sin,
as Christ the Lord is pure.

3 If in my Father's Love
I share filial Part,
Send down thy Spirit, like a Dove,
to rest upon my Heart.
We would no longer lie
like Slaves beneath the Throne;
My Faith shall Abba Father cry,
and thou the Kindred own.