Come, ye who love the Lord

Come, ye who love the Lord,
And let your joys be known;
Join in a song of 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 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.