Come, we that love the Lord,

And let our joys be known;

Join in a song with sweet accord,

And thus surround the throne.

2 The sorrows of the mind

Be banished from this place!

Religion never was designed

To make our pleasures less.

3 Let those refuse to sing

Who never knew our God;

But children of the heavenly King

May speak their joys abroad.

4 The men of grace have found

Glory begun below;

Celestial fruits on earthly ground

From hope and faith may grow.

5 The hill of Zion yields

A thousand sacred sweets,

Before we reach the heavenly fields,

Or walk the golden streets.

6 Then let our songs abound,

And every tear be dry;

We’re marching o’er this hallowed ground

To fairer worlds on high.