The mighty frame of glorious grace

The mighty frame of glorious grace,
That brightest monument of praise
That e'er the God of love designed,
Employs and fills my lab'ring mind.

Begin, my soul, the heav'nly song,
A burden for an angel's tongue:
When Gabriel sounds these awful things,
He tunes and summons all his stungs.

Proclaim inimitable love:
Jesus, the Lord of worlds above,
Puts off the beams of bright array,
And veils the God in mortal clay!

What black reproach defiled his name,
When with our sins he took our shame!
He whom adoring angels blessed
Is made the impious rebel's jest.

He that distributes crowns and thrones
Hangs on a tree, and bleeds, and groans!
The Prince of Life resigns his breath,
The King of Glory bows to death!

But see the wonders of his power,
He triumphs in his dying hour;
And while by Satan's rage he fell,
He dashed the rising hopes of hell.

Thus were the hosts of death subdued,
And sin was drowned in Jesus' blood;
Thus he arose, and reigns above,
And conquers sinners by his love.

Who shall fulfil this boundless song?
The theme surmounts an angel's tongue:
How low, how vain are mortal airs,
When Gabriel's nobler harp despairs!