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.