And wrath and darkness chained them down;
But man, vile man, forsook his bliss,
And mercy lifts him to a crown.
Amazing work of sovereign grace
That could distinguish rebels so!
Our guilty treasons called aloud
For everlasting fetters, too.
To Thee, to Thee, Almighty Love,
Our souls, ourselves, our all we pay:
Millions of tongues shall sound Thy praise
On the bright hills of heav’nly day.
Words: Isaac Watts, Hymns and Spiritual Songs, 1707-9, Book II