O Zions King We Suppliant Bow

Oh 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.

Up to Thy throne we lift our eyes,
For blessings to attend our choice,
Of such whose generous, prudent zeal
Shall make Thy favored ways rejoice.

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

By purest love to Christ and truth,
Oh may they win a good degree
Of boldness in the Christian faith,
And meet the smile of Thine and Thee.

And when the work to them assigned,
The work of love is fully done,
Call them, from serving tables here,
To sit around Thy glorious throne.