SILVER-STREET T UNE

Come, lift your joyous eyes
To yonder heav'nly place,
Where, freed from sin, your souls shall rise
And sing redeeming grace.

Though death and hell may frown,
And charge the saints with guilt;
And death and hell shall ne'er pull down
The church which Christ has built.

To Sion's blissful shore,
As on our way we go,
While hallelujahs sound before,
'Tis heav'n begun below.

Then cast your willows down;
Lift up your hearts and sing,
Christ your heads with glory crown,
And make each saint a king.