With Adam’s num’rous race;
He raised its arches o’er the floods,
And built it on the seas.
But who among the sons of men
May visit thine abode?
He that has hands from mischief clean,
Whose heart is right with God.
This is the man may rise and take
The blessings of his grace;
This is the lot of those that seek
The God of Jacob’s face.
Now let our souls’ immortal powers
To meet the Lord prepare,
Lift up their everlasting doors,
The King of glory’s near.
The King of glory! who can tell
The wonders of his might?
He rules the nations; but to dwell
With saints is his delight.