Classic Poem

Adoring saints made this their psalm,
Salvation to our God,
That sits enthron'd, and to the Lamb,
That wash'd us in his blood.

Amen, said hosts of angels bright,
For to our God pertain
Thanksgiving, wisdom, glory, might,
For evermore. Amen.

But who are these, our heav'nly mates,
Thus cloth'd in white array?
Whence came they to the happy seats
Of everlasting day?

Lo! these are they, the friends of God,
Thro' suff'ring great who came,
And wash'd their raiment white in blood,
The blood of Christ the Lamb.

Now they approach Jehovah's throne,
And serve him night and day;
His presence fills them ev'ry one
With glorious joy for ay.

No more shall hunger pain their heart;
Nor parching thirst annoy;
Nor scorching sun, nor hottest smart,
Henceforth abate their joy.

The Lamb that fills the middle throne,
To shed his milder beams,
Shall feed his flock, and lead them on
To drink of living streams.

Renew'd shall be their sweet solace
Through rounds of endless years;
And the soft hand of sov'reign grace
Shall wipe away their tears.