1 Jesus, we sing thy matchless grace,
That calls base worms thy own;
Gives them among thy saints a place,
To make thy glories known.
2 Allied to thee our vital head,
We act, and grow, and thrive:
From thee divided, each is dead,
When most he seems alive.
3 Thy saints on earth, and those above,
All join in sweet accord;
One body all in mutual love,
And thou, their common Lord.
4 O may our faith each hour receive
The spirit from above,
Thus death and hell shall ne'er deceive,
Nor break the bond of love.
5 Thou the whole body wilt present
Before thy Father's face;
Now shall a wrinkle, or a spot,
Its beauteous form disgrace.
|First Line:||Jesus, we sing thy matchless grace|
|Title:||Christ the head of the Church|
|Topic:||Christ: The head of the church|