1 Great Lord of angels! we adore
The grace that builds thy courts below;
And, midst ten thousand sons of light
Stoops to regard what mortals do!

2 Amidst the wastes of time and death,
Successive pastors thou dost raise,
Thy kingdom and thy truth to spread,
And form a people for thy praise.

3 At length, dismiss'd from feeble clay,
Thy servants join th'angelick band,
With them through distant worlds they fly,
With them before thy presence stand.

4 O blest employment! glorious hope!
Sweet lenitive of grief and care!
When shall we reach those radiant courts,
And all their joys and honours share?

5 Yet while these labours we pursue,
Tho' distant from thy heav'nly throne,
Give us a zeal and love like theirs,
And half their heav'n shall here be known.