Beloved of the Lord most high,

Beloved of the Lord most high,
Let praises be your sweet employ;
Ye sons of God, rejoice, and sing
The honours of your Lord and King.

Your heavenly Father ever lives,
And all his choicest treasure gives
To you, the favourites of his heart,
Nor will he ever with you part.

Whatever be your lot below,
Though you through gloomy paths may go,
Your heavenly Father is your Light,
And he will guide your footsteps right.

In every changing scene below,
'Tis yours by faith this grace to know:
Now are we sons and heirs of God,
Fast hastening to our blest abode.

In every trying, deep distress,
In poverty and wretchedness,
This truth sweet comfort should afford:
E'en now we are the sons of God.

Let worldlings know we scorn the toys
Which they so highly love and prize;
We must possess all real good,
Since we are sons and heirs of God.

Dear Father, bless us with this grace,
While travelling through this wilderness;
Our sonship still to keep in view,
And honour thee in all we do.