1 How wondrous that manner of love,
The Father on us hath bestowed;
Preparing us mansions above,
And calling us children of God!
The world our adoption despise,
Our Saviour they will not receive;
They know not the joys that arise
In the bosom of those that believe.

2 Beloved, now are we the sons,
The children of infinite grace,
The heirs of bright scepters and crowns
On high in the regions of peace:
Though ling'ring in darkness and fear,
We trust in the Saviour's glad word;
We know that when he shall appear,
We shall see and resemble our Lord.