Words: Isaac Watts
Note: there is also a Common Metre version on this page.
1 When God restored our captive state, Joy was our song, and grace our theme; The grace beyond our hopes so great That joy appeared a painted dream.
2 The scoffer owns thy hand, and pays Unwilling honors to thy name; While we with pleasure shout thy praise, With cheerful notes thy love proclaim.
3 When we review our dismal fears, 'Twas hard to think they'd vanish so; With God we left our flowing tears, He makes our joys like rivers flow.
4 The man that in his furrowed field His scattered seed with sadness leaves, Will shout to see the harvest yield A welcome load of joyful sheaves.
The joy of a remarkable conversion; or, Melancholy removed.
1 When God revealed his gracious name, And changed my mournful state, My rapture seemed a pleasing dream, The grace appeared so great.
2 The world beheld the glorious change, And did thy hand confess; My tongue broke out in unknown strains, And sung surprising grace.
3 "Great is the work," my neighbors cried, And owned the power divine; "Great is the work," my heart replied, "And be the glory thine."
4 The Lord can clear the darkest skies, Can give us day for night; Make drops of sacred sorrow rise To rivers of delight.
5 Let those that sow in sadness wait Till the fair harvest come, They shall confess their sheaves are great, And shout the blessings home.
6 Though seed lie buried long in dust, It sha'n't deceive their hope; The precious grain can ne'er be lost, For grace insures the crop.