How sweet the praise, how high the theme,

To sing of him who rules supreme,

Who dwells at God’s right hand on high,

Yet looks on us with tender eye.

2 Th’ angelic host, in countless throngs,

Recount his glories in their songs,

And golden harps salute his ear;

Yet our weak praise he deigns to hear.

3 The planets roll their orbits round;

Unnumbered worlds, in space profound,

Are ruled by him, by him controlled;

Yet he’s the Shepherd of our fold.

4 Exalted high upon his throne,

The universe is all his own:

Untold the honors he doth wear;

Yet we are objects of his care.