445. C. M. Doddridge. |Now are we sons of God.|
1 How rich thy favors, God of grace!
How various, how divine!
Full as the ocean they are poured,
And bright as heaven they shine.
2 He to eternal glory calls,
And leads the wondrous way
To his own palace where he reigns
In uncreated day.
3 Jesus, the herald of his love,
Displays the radiant prize,
A crown of never-ending bliss,
To our admiring eyes.
4 The songs of everlasting years
That mercy shall attend,
Which leads, through sufferings of an hour,
To joys that never end.