The grace which God bestows on us
Is just His Son in full;
The rich enjoyment of this Christ
Is plenteous, bountiful.
'Tis far too great to comprehend,
Too wondrous to contain:
How we, once children of despair,
God's masterpiece became.
The whole creation now beneath
The weight of bondage sore,
In seeing God's sons manifest
Is freed forevermore.
Th' eternal purpose of our God
Will be full manifest;
The hope of glory now concealed
Is then to all expressed.
The briars will be myrtle trees,
The thorn will be no more,
And peace will reign where war did rage,
The curse will then be o'er.
'Tis then the trees shall clap their hands,
And all the hills shall sing;
This glorious freedom shall God's sons
Thus manifested bring.
God's deepest work of grace goes on
Each day, though hidden, small,
Until that day, when manifest,
It is revealed to all.
By then God's wrought His finished work:
Himself dispensed to us;
And all creation 'round admires
His product, glorious.
The angels that before our God
In brightest splendor stand,
Will join the universal praise
To Him for all He's planned.
And of the devil, of his end . . . ?
We'll praise the Lord for how
Just distant smoke is all that's left
Of all that troubles now.
So shall we not delight to give
Ourselves in every way,
And let the Lord dispense Himself
Into us more each day;
The grace that we receive each day,
Though hidden oft, and small,
Is God Himself wrought into us,
That day to shine o'er all.