COME, we that love the Lord,

The sorrows of the mind Be banished from the place; Religion never was designed To make our pleasures less.

Let those refuse to sing That never knew our God; But children of the heavenly King Must speak their joys abroad.

The hill of Zion yields A stream of joys untold, Before we reach the heavenly fields, Or walk the streets of gold.

Then let our songs abound, And every tear be dry; We’re marching through Emmanuel’s ground To fairer worlds on high.

There shall we see His face And never, never sin; There from the rivers of His grace Drink endless pleasures in.