Classic Poem

Come, let us join our cheerful songs
With angels round the throne;
Ten thousand thousand are their tongues,
But all their joys are one.

Worthy's the Lamb that died, they cry,
To be exalted thus;
Worthy's the Lamb, our lips reply,
For he was slain for us.

He's worthy to receive all pow'r,
And riches all beside,
Wisdom, and strength, and honour, glor,
And blessings on his head.

[Pow'r and dominion are his due,
Though doom'd at Pilate's bar;
Wisdom belongs to Jesus too,
Tho' charg'd with madness here.

All riches are his native right,
Who bore amazing loss:
To him belongs eternal might
Who felt the weak'ning cross,

To him be lasting honours paid,
Instead of shame and scorn,
While glory shines around his head,
A crown without a thorn.

He bore the curse for man that fell,
To him be blessings giv'n:
The Lamb that sap'd the gate of hell,
Hath gain'd the praise of Heav'n.

Thus angels crown their Lord, you see;
More sib to him may sing,
Worthy's the Lamb, our kin, to be
Our Prophet, Priest, and King.]