English poem
Song 1
by Isaac Watts (1674–1748)
How glorious is our Heavenly King, Who reigns above the sky! How shall a child presume to sing His dreadful majesty?
How great his power is none can tell, Nor think how large his grace; Not men below, nor saints that dwell On high before his face.
Not angels that stand round the Lord Can search his secret will; But they perform his heavenly word, And sing his praises still.
Then let me join this holy train, And my first offerings bring; Th' eternal God will not disdain To hear an infant sing.
My heart resolves, my tongue obeys, And angels shall rejoice To hear their mighty Maker's praise Sound from a feeble voice.