Jesus Shall Reign

For this year’s Easter Sunday…

One of my favourite hymns (with more than the standard five or six stanzas we’re familiar with) from one of my favourite hymn writers (Isaac Watts), based on one of my favourite psalms (72).

Jesus shall reign where’er the sun

Does his successive journeys run;

His kingdom stretch from shore to shore,

Till moons shall wax and wane no more.

Behold the islands with their kings,

And Europe her best tribute brings;

From north to south the princes meet,

To pay their homage at His feet.

There Persia, glorious to behold,

There India shines in eastern gold;

And barb’rous nations at His word

Submit, and bow, and own their Lord.

To Him shall endless prayer be made,

And praises throng to crown His head;

His Name like sweet perfume shall rise

With every morning sacrifice.

People and realms of every tongue

Dwell on His love with sweetest song;

And infant voices shall proclaim

Their early blessings on His Name.

Blessings abound wherever He reigns;

The prisoner leaps to lose his chains;

The weary find eternal rest,

And all the sons of want are blessed.

Where He displays His healing power,

Death and the curse are known no more:

In Him the tribes of Adam boast

More blessings than their father lost.

Let every creature rise and bring

Peculiar honours to our King;

Angels descend with songs again,

And earth repeat the loud amen!

Great God, whose universal sway

The known and unknown worlds obey,

Now give the kingdom to Thy Son,

Extend His power, exalt His throne.

The sceptre well becomes His hands;

All Heav’n submits to His commands;

His justice shall avenge the poor,

And pride and rage prevail no more.

With power He vindicates the just,

And treads th’oppressor in the dust:

His worship and His fear shall last

Till hours, and years, and time be past.

As rain on meadows newly mown,

So shall He send his influence down:

His grace on fainting souls distills,

Like heav’nly dew on thirsty hills.

The heathen lands, that lie beneath

The shades of overspreading death,

Revive at His first dawning light;

And deserts blossom at the sight.

The saints shall flourish in His days,

Dressed in the robes of joy and praise;

Peace, like a river, from His throne

Shall flow to nations yet unknown.

Isaac Watts (1674–1748)