Come, we that love the Lord,
And let our joys be known;
Join in a song with sweet accord,
And thus surround the throne.
Let those refuse to sing
Who never knew our God;
But children of the heavenly King
May speak their joys abroad.
The men of grace have found
Glory begun below;
Celestial fruit 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 thru Emmanuel's ground
To fairer worlds on high.