Hymn 77

By Isaac Watts

(The love of Christ for the church, in his language to her, and provisions for her. (Song of Sol. 8:5-13)

Now in the galleries of his grace

Appears the King, and thus he says

“How fair my saints are in my sight!

My love how pleasant for delight!”

Kind is thy language, sovereign Lord

There’s heavenly grace in every word

From that dear mouth a stream divine

Flows sweeter than the choicest wine

Such wondrous love awakes the lip

Of saints that were almost asleep

To speak the praises of thy name

And makes our cold affections flame

These are the joys he lets us know

In fields and villages below

Gives us a relish of his love

Bu keeps his noblest feast above

In Paradise within the gates

A higher entertainment waits

Fruits new and old lay up in store

Where we shall feed, but thirst no more.

I want to know the love of Christ in a depth and vibrancy in which Watts walked and understood. I pray these words stir your affections for Jesus as they have mine today.