1 All glory be to Thee,
Who dwellest high in heaven;
Not to a feeble child of clay
Be praise or worship given;
Thy hand the mightiest can o'erthrow,
And dash their every idol low.

2 All glory, Lord, be Thine,
Our fortress and our shield,
Whose arm upholds Thine Israel
And strengthens for the field;
In Thee Thy faithful people trust,
And lay the proudest in the dust.

3 Blest by Thy favour, Lord,
No foe can work us ill;
Supported by Thy gracious Word,
We feel Thee present still;
And e'en in death and in the grave
Shall own Thy power to help and save.