O TFORD Tune .

Ye saints, that bow at Jesu's feet,
In heart and tongue the same,
Hosannahs sing, in concord sweet,
To our atoning Lamb!

Soft, beyond the azure dome
That clips this pond'rous ball,
Let praise ascend, till Jesus come,
And heav'n's bright curtains fall.

Yet, when each orb in yon blue skies
Shall set to rise no more,
More loud and sweet our songs shall rise
To him we now adore.

When the bright heav'ns, in liquid fire,
Shall melt and burn to dross,
O'er all their ruins shall aspire
The standard of the cross.

There shall the radiant armies flock
Whom Jesus calls his own,
Nor tremble at the mighty shock
That hurls creation down.

Firm as the everlasting hills
Remains the sinner's friend;
The faith which now our bosom fills
Shall there in glory end.