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 thru Emmanuel’s ground

To fairer worlds on High.