The Almighty CONQUEROR

A Wake my Heart, awake my Tongue, Sound each melodious String; In num'rous Verse and lofty Song, To thee, my GOD, I sing.

Omnipotent Redeemer-LORD, What Wonders hast thou done! My flowing Numbers shall record. The Vict'ries thou hast won.

I glow in Raptures all divine, As with the Theme I rise, Your tuneful Aids, fictitious Nine, No more shall tempt my Eyes.

Lo! rob'd with Light, JESUS descends The Graves tremendous Gloom; Day blushes round him where he tends, And dawns amid the Tomb.

Sudden from off that dismal Bed, The scatt'ring Shadows fly; The dark Dominions of the Dead Confess the Stranger, Joy.

Hark! how in hideous Howls complains The conquer'd Tyrant Death; He roars aloud, and shakes his Chains, And grinds his Iron Teeth.

Immortal Vigour fill'd the Man, Almighty Pow'r the GOD, When, arm'd with Thunders, down he ran To Satan's dire Abode.

Then Hell's grim Monarch saw, and fear'd, And felt his tott'ring Thone; He rag'd, and foam'd, and wildly star'd, And seiz'd his nodding Crown.

In vain he rav'd, and roll'd his Eyes, And held his Crown in vain: Swift on his Head the Lightning flies, With everlasting Pain.

At once th' old Serpent's Craft was crush'd, Beneath thy siery Prown, When Thou, great GOD, resistless rush'd, And hurl'd the Monster down.

Thy Fetters, in the deep Abyss, His tort'red Members wring: There let him writhe, and coyl, and hiss, And dart his pintless Sting.

These were the Victims of thy Hate, When Fury flus'd thy Face; But who, dear SAVIOUR, can relate The Conquests of they Grace!

Cease, cease my Tongue, be still, my Lyre, Be silent every String: This is a Theme, O heav'nly Chor, Too great fro you to sing.