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Isaac Watts - Hymn 27
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Praise ye him, all his angels. 

Psa. 148:2. 

God! the eternal, awful name
That the whole heav`nly army fears,
That shakes the wide creation`s frame,
And Satan trembles when he hears.

Like flames of fire his servants are,
And light surrounds his dwelling-place;
But, O ye fiery flames! declare
The brighter glories of his face.

`Tis not for such poor worms as we
To speak so infinite a thing;
But your immortal eyes survey
The beauties of your sovereign King.

Tell how he shows his smiling face,
And clothes all heav`n in bright array;
Triumph and joy run through the place,
And songs eternal as the day.

Speak, for you feel his burning love,
What zeal it spreads through all your frame;
That sacred fire dwells all above,
For we on earth have lost the name.

[Sing of his power and justice too,
That infinite right hand of his
That vanquished Satan and his crew,
And thunder drove them down from bliss.]

[What mighty storms of poisoned darts
Were hurled upon the rebels there!
What deadly jav`lins nailed their hearts
Fast to the racks of long despair!]

[Shout to your King, ye heav`nly host,
You that beheld the sinking foe;
Firmly ye stood when they were lost:
Praise the rich grace that kept you so.]

Proclaim his wonders from the skies,
Let every distant nation hear;
And while you sound his lofty praise,
Let humble mortals bow and fear.
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