“In thy seed shall all the nations of the earth be blessed."
ISLES of the deep, rejoice! rejoice!
Ye ransom'd nations, sing
The praises of your Lord and God,
The triumphs of your King.
He conies—and at his mighty word,
The clouds are fleeting fast,
And o'er the land of promise, see,
The glory breaks at last.
There he, upon his ancient throne,
His pow'r and grace displays,
While Salem, with its echoing hills,
Sends forth the voice of praise.
Streams of divine, unfailing joy,
Whose sweetness none can know,
But the redeem'd, the blood-bought soul,
Through all creation flow.
O let his praises fill the earth,
While all the blest above,
In strains of loftier triumph still,
Speak only of his love.
Sing, ye redeem'd Before the throne,
Ye white-robed myriads fall;
Sing, for the Lord of glory reigns,
The Christ—the heir of all.