Begin, my soul, some heavenly theme;
Awake, my voice, and sing
The mighty works, or mightier name,
Of our eternal King.
Tell of His wondrous faithfulness,
And sound His power abroad;
Sing the sweet promise of His grace,
And the performing God.1
Proclaim “Salvation from the Lord,
For wretched, dying men!”
His hand hath writ the sacred Word
With an immortal pen.
Engraved as in eternal brass,
The mighty promise shines;
Nor can the powers of darkness ’rase
Those everlasting lines.
His every word of grace is strong
As that which built the skies;
The Voice that rolls the stars along
Speaks all the promises.2
He said, “Let the wide heav’n be spread”—
And heav’n was stretched abroad!
“Abram, I’ll be thy God,” He said,
And He was Abram’s God.
O might I hear Thy heavenly tongue
But whisper, “Thou art Mine!”
Those gentle words shall raise my song
To notes almost divine.
Now shall my fainting heart rejoice
To know Thy favor sure;
I trust the all-creating voice,
And faith desires no more.