Not to the terrors of the Lord,

The tempest, fire, and smoke;

Not to the thunder of that word

Which God on Sinai spoke;

But we are come to Zion's hill,

The city of our God,

Where milder words declare his will,

And spread his love abroad.

Behold th' innumerable host

Of angels clothed in light!

Behold the spirits of the just,

Whose faith is turned to sight!

Behold the blest assembly there

Whose names are writ in heav'n!

And God, the Judge of all, declares

Their vilest sins forgiv'n.

The saints on earth and all the dead

But one communion make;

All join in Christ their living Head,

And of his grace partake.

In such society as this

My weary soul would rest;

The man that dwells where Jesus is

Must be for ever blest.