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Isaac Watts

Isaac Watts

(1674 – 1748)

TUNE: 1: Darwall’s 148th.
TUNE 2: Millennium

Join all the glorious names

Born in Southampton, (UK) Dr. Watts became known as the father of English hymnody. The story goes that one day after returning from a Dissenting meeting house, the young Watts complained about the poor content of the Psalmody; he said that it is as if Jesus had never come! His Father then turned to him and told young Isaac to produce something better. And so he did, producing some of the most wonderful Christ – centred hymns in the language. Watts became known as the ‘Father of English hymns’.

‘The Offices of Christ, from several scriptures.’

Join all the glorious names
Of wisdom, love, and power,
That ever mortals knew,
That angels ever bore:
All are too mean
To speak His worth,
Too mean to set
My Saviour forth.


But. O what gentle terms,
What condescending ways
Doth our Redeemer use
To teach His heavenly grace!
Mine eyes with joy
And wonder see
What forms of love
He bears for me.


Arrayed in mortal flesh,
He like an angel stands,
And holds the promises
And pardons in His hands;
Commissioned from
His Father’s throne
To make His grace
To mortals known.


Great Prophet of my God,
My tongue would bless Thy Name,
By Thee the joyful news
Of our salvation came,
The joyful news
Of sins forgiv’n
Of hell subdu’d,
And peace with heaven.


Be Thou my Counsellor,
My Pattern, and my Guide,
And through this desert land
Still keep me near thy side:
O let my feet
Ne’er run astray
Nor rove nor seek
The crooked way.


I love my Shepherd’s voice,
His watchful eyes shall keep
My wand’ring soul among
The thousands of His sheep:
He feeds His flock,
He calls their names,
His bosom bears
The tender lambs.


To this dear Surety’s hand
Will I commit my cause;
He answers and fulfils
His Father’s broken laws:
Behold my soul
At freedom set!
My Surety paid
The dreadful debt.


Jesus, my great High Priest,
Offered His blood, and died;
My guilty conscience seeks
No sacrifice beside:
His powerful blood
Did once atone,
And now it pleads
Before the throne.


My Advocate appears
For my defence on high;
The Father bows his ears,
And lays his thunder by:
Not all that hell
Or sin can say
Shall turn His heart,
His love away.


My dear almighty Lord,
My Conqueror and my King,
Thy sceptre and Thy sword,
Thy reigning grace I sing:
Thine is the power;
Behold I sit
In willing bonds
Beneath Thy feet.


Now let my soul arise,
And tread the tempter down;
My Captain leads me forth
To conquest and a crown:
A feeble saint
Shall win the day,
Though death and hell
Obstruct the way.


Should all the hosts of death,
And powers of hell unknown,
Put their most dreadful forms
Of rage and mischief on,
I shall be safe,
For Christ displays
Superior power,
And guardian grace