Come, ye that love the Lord, And let your joys be known;
Join in a song with sweet accord
While we surround the throne.
The sorrow of the mind
Be banish’d from the place;
Religion never was design’d
To make our pleasures less.
Let those refuse to sing
Who never knew our God;
But servants of the heavenly King
May speak their joys abroad.
The God that rules on high,
That all the earth surveys,
That rides upon the stormy sky,
And calms the roaring seas:
This awful God of ours,
Our Father and our Love;
He will send down His heavenly powers
To carry us above.
There shall we see His face,
And never, never sin;
There from the rivers of His grace
Drink endless pleasures in.
Yes! and before we rise
To that immortal state,
The thoughts of such amazing bliss
Should constant joys create.
The men of grace have found
Glory begun below;
Celestial fruits on earthly ground
From faith and hope may grow.
The hill of Zion 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. —Isaac Watts
Craig T. Owens 