1 Ye saints, proclaim abroad
The honors of your King
To Jesus, your incarnate God,
Your songs of praises sing.

2 Not angels round the throne
Of majesty above,
Are half so much obliged as we,
To our Immanuel's love.

3 They never sunk so low,
They are not raised so high;
They never knew such depths of woe,
Such heights of majesty.

4 The Saviour did not join
Their nature to His own;
For them He shed no blood divine,
Nor breath'd a single groan.

5 May we with angels vie
The Saviour to adore;
Our debts are greater far than theirs,
Oh, be our praises more!