1 Awake ye saints: To praise your King
Your sweetest passions raise,
Your pious pleasure, while you sing,
Increasing with the praise.

2 Great is the Lord; and works unknown
Are his divine employ:
But still his saints are near his throne,
His treasure and his joy.

3 Heav'n, earth and sea confess his hand;
He bids the vapours rise;
Lightning and storm at his command,
Sweep thro' the sounding skies.

4 All pow'r that gods or kings have claim'd,
Is found with him alone;
But heathen gods should ne'er be nam'd
Where our Jehovah's known.

5 Which of the stocks or stones they trust,
Can give them show'rs of rain?
In vain they worship glitt'ring dust,
And pray to God in vain.

6 Their gods have tongues that speechless prove,
Such as their makers gave:
Their feet were never form'd to move,
Nor hands have pow'r to save.

7 Blind are their eyes, their ears are deaf,
Nor hear when mortals pray;
Mortals that wait for their relief,
Are blind and deaf as they.

8 Ye nations, know the living God,
Serve him with faith and fear;
He makes the churches his abode,
And claims your honoors there.