Come, we who love the Lord,
And let our joys be known;
Join in a song of sweet acccord,
And thus surrond the throne.
Let those refuse to sing
Who never knew our god;
But children of the heav'nly King
Should speak thier joys abroad
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 heav'nly fields,
Or walk the golden streets.
Then let our songs abound
And every tear be dry;
We're marching thro' Emanuael's ground
To fairer worlds on high.
Amen