6 [Long may the King our Sovereign live
To rule us by his word;
And all the honours he can give
Be offer’d to the Lord.]

Hymn 2:112. 
Angels ministering to Christ and saints.

1 Great God, to what a glorious height
Hast thou advanc’d the Lord thy Son! 
Angels, in all their robes of light,
Are made the servants of his throne.

2 Before his feet their armies wait,
And swift as flames of fire they move,
To manage his affairs of state
In works of vengeance or of love.

3 His orders run thro’ all their hosts,
Legions descend at his command
To shield and guard the British coasts,
When foreign rage invades our land.

4 Now they are sent to guide our feet
Up to the gates of thine abode,
Thro’ all the dangers that we meet
In travelling the heavenly road.

5 Lord, when I leave this mortal ground,
And thou shall bid me rise and come,
Send a beloved angel down
Safe to conduct my spirit home.

Hymn 2:113. 
The same.

1 The majesty of Solomon! 
How glorious to behold
The servants waiting round his throne,
The ivory and the gold.

2 But, mighty God, thy palace shines
With far superior beams;
Thine angel-guards are swift as winds,
Thy ministers are flames.

3 [Soon as thine only Son had made
His entrance on this earth,
A shining army downward fled
To celebrate his birth.

4 And when oppress’d with pains and fears
On the cold ground he lies,
Behold a heavenly form appears
T’ allay his agonies.]

5 Now to the hands of Christ our King
Are all their legions given;
They wait upon his saints, and bring
His chosen heirs to heaven.

6 Pleasure and praise run thro’ their host
To see a sinner turn;
Then Satan has a captive lost,
And Christ a subject born.

7 But there’s an hour of brighter joy,
When he his angels sends
Obstinate rebels to destroy,
And gather in his friends.

8 O! could I say, without a doubt,
There shall my soul be found,
Then let the great archangel shout,
And the last trumpet sound.

Hymn 2:114. 
Christ’s death, victory and dominion.

1 I sing my Saviour’s wondrous death; He conquer’d when he fell:  ’Tis finish’d, said his dying breath, And shook the gates of hell.

2 ’Tis finish’d, our Immanuel cries,
The dreadful work is done;
Hence shall his sovereign throne arise,
His kingdom is begun.

3 His cross a sure foundation laid
For glory and renown,
When thro’ the regions of the dead
He pass’d to reach the crown.

4 Exalted at his Father’s side
Sits our victorious Lord;
To heaven and hell his hands divide
The vengeance or reward.

5 The saints from his propitious eye
Await their several crowns,
And all the sons of darkness fly
The terror of his frowns.