His pow’rful blood did once atone; And now it pleads before the throne. 4 My dear and mighty Lord, My conqu’ror, and my King; Thy sceptre and thy sword, Thy reigning grace I sing. Thine is the pow’r; behold! I sit In willing bonds beneath thy feet. 5 Now let my soul arise, And tread the tempter down: My Saviour leads me forth To conquest and a crown. A feeble saint shall win the day, Tho’ death and hell obstruct the way. 6 Should all the hosts of hell, and pow’rs of death unknown, Put their most
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