Fair Zion's King, we suppliant bow

Verse 1

Fair Sion's King, we suppliant bow, And hail the grace thy church enjoys; Her holy officers are thine With all the gifts thy love employs.

Verse 2

Up to thy throne we lift our eyes, For blessings to attend our choice, Of such whose generous, prudent zeal, Shall make thy favour'd ways rejoice.

Verse 3

Happy in Jesus, their own Lord, May they his sacred table spread, The table of their pastor fill, And fill the holy poor with bread!

Verse 4

When pastor, saints, and poor they serve; May their own hearts with grace be crown'd! While patience, sympathy, and joy, Adorn, and through their lives abound.

Verse 5

By purest love to Christ, and truth, O may they win a good degree Of boldness in the Christian faith, And meet the smile of thine and thee!

Verse 6

And when the work to them assign'd-- The work of love, is fully done, Call them from serving tables here, To sit around thy glorious throne.