Come, ye who love the Lord,

And let your joys be known;

Join in a song with sweet accord,

And thus surround the throne.

Let those refuse to sing

That never knew our God,

But children of the heavenly King

May speak their joys abroad.

Children of grace have found

Glory begun below:

Celestial fruits on earthly grounds

From faith and hope may grow.

The hill of Sion yields

A thousand sacred sweets,

Before we reach the heavenly fields,

Or walk the golden streets.

Then let our songs abound,

And every tear be dry;

We’re marching through Immanuel’s ground,

To fairer worlds on high.