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 heav'nly King
may speak their joys abroad.

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 through Emmanuel's ground
to fairer worlds on high.