Give me the wings of faith, to rise

Within the vail, and see

The saints above, how great their joys

How bright their glories be.

2 Once they were mourning here below,

And bathed their couch with tears;

They wrestled hard, as we do now,

With sins, and doubts, and fears.

3 I ask them whence their victory came;

They, with united breath,

Ascribe their conquest to the Lamb,

Their triumph to his death.

4 They marked the footsteps that he trod;

His zeal inspired their breast;

And, following their incarnate God,

Possessed the promised rest.

5 Our glorious Leader claims our praise,

For his own pattern given;

While the long cloud of witnesses

Shows the same path to heaven.