Come forth in the fields and the gardens;

There let us seek and find

All that will tell us of Jesus,

And bring His love to mind.

All white on the thymy hillside

Lambs by their mothers play;

All white stand the stately lilies

In the garden borders gay.

All white in the sunny heavens

The piled-up clouds sail slow—

They were crimson when rose the morning,

Now whiter are they than snow,

All white on the lonely mountains

The snow where no foot has trod—

All white is the foam on the fountains

That flow from the hills of God.

Oh tell me what yet is whiter

Than the lambs and the lilies white,

Than the clouds piled up in the noontide,

Like a mountain land of light?

Than the snow on the ancient mountains,

Where only the angels go?

Than the foam where the wild bright fountains

Dance down to the glens below?

Child, hast thou trusted Jesus?

Canst thou believe and say,

“He loved me, He died to save me,

He has borne my sins away;

For my sins were laid upon Jesus;

In my stead, for my guilt, He died”?

Then child, fall down and adore Him,

Thou art whiter than all beside.

A lamb washed white for ever

In the Lamb’s most precious blood—

A lily by God’s still river,

That lies in the light of God.

The clouds through the sunny heavens

As an army walk in white,

On to the gates of glory,

To the glow of the western light;

So in the snow-white raiment

That Christ for His child has won,

Thou shalt pass the golden gateway,

And tell that His work is done.