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Isaac Watts·Post-Reformation
Verse 1
Behold what wondrous grace
The Father has bestowed
On sinners of a mortal race,
To call them sons of God!
Verse 2
Nor doth it yet appear
How great we must be made;
But when we see our Savior there,
We shall be like our Head.
Verse 3
A hope so much divine
May trials well endure,
May purge our souls from sense and sin,
As Christ the Lord is pure.
Verse 4
If in my Father’s love
I share a filial part,
Send down thy Spirit, like a dove,
To rest upon my heart.
Verse 5
We would no longer lie
Like slaves beneath the throne;
Our faith shall Abba, Father! cry,
And thou the kindred own.
Otterbein 1890 No. 337
Hattie E. Buell. Arr·Modern
Verse 1
My Father is rich in houses and lands.
He holdeth the wealth of the world in his hands!
Of rubies and diamonds, of silver and gold,
His coffers are full, he has riches untold.
Refrain
I’m the child of a King,
The child of a King,
With Jesus, my Savior,
I’m the child of a King.
Verse 2
My Father’s own Son, the Savior so fair,
Once wandered on earth human sorrow to share:
But now he is reigning forever on high,
He’ll give us a home in the sweet by and by.
Verse 3
I once was an outcast stranger on earth,
A sinner by choice and an “alien” by birth!
But I’ve been “adopted,” my name’s written down:
An heir to a mansion, a robe, and a crown.
Verse 4
A tent or a cottage, why should I care?
They’re building a palace for me over there!
Tho’ exiled from home, yet my glad heart can sing:
All glory to God, I’m the child of a King.
Hattie E. Buell. Arr, “My Father Is Rich in Houses and Lands.”
Otterbein 1890 No. 352 · The Child of a King
Not yet anchored to a scripture passage
Isaac Watts·Post-Reformation
Verse 1
Behold what wondrous grace
The Father has bestowed
On sinners of a mortal race,
To call them sons of God!
Verse 2
Nor doth it yet appear
How great we must be made;
But when we see our Saviour here
We shall be like our Head.
Verse 3
A hope so much Divine
May trials well endure,
May purge our souls from sense and sin,
As Christ the Lord is pure.
Verse 4
If in my Father’s love
I share a filial part,
Send down Thy Spirit like a dove
To rest upon my heart.
Verse 5
We would no longer lie
Like slaves beneath the throne;
My faith shall “Abba, Father,” cry,
And Thou the kindred own.
Isaac Watts, “Behold What Wondrous Grace”
Presbyterian 1895 No. 608 · S.M. · (Leighton)