Pow’r and praise to Thee belong;
We would all Thy grace record,
Holy, gracious, loving Lord!
Thence is all Thy people’s hope;
Thou wast poor, that we might be
Rich in glory, Lord, with Thee.
Wherefore Thou to earth didst turn?
Why leave heav’n to come to earth
Lonely, scorned, e’en suffering death?
Thou on earth—the outcast Man!
Though this suffering Thou didst know,
Love would come to bear our woe.
Joy and shame our hearts possess;
Joy, that Thou couldst pity thus;
Shame, for such returns from us.
When from every hindrance free,
When to Thee, in glory, brought,
We shall serve Thee as we ought.
Wait “the blessed hope” to see.
May we ever for Thee live,
Till Thy saints Thou dost receive.