Awake ye saints, to praise your King, Your sweetest accents raise, Your pious pleasure, while you sing, Increasing with the praise. Great is the Lord, and works unknown Are His divine employ; But still His saints are near His throne, His treasure and His joy. Heav'n, earth, and sea confess His hand; He bids the vapors rise, Lightning and storm, at His command, Sweep thro' the sounding skies. All pow'r that gods or kings have claimed Is found with Him alone, But heathen gods shall ne'er be found Where our Jehovah's known.