Poor mourners found a home at last.

Sing the great salvation,

And triumph in my God;

That I once more may find her?

That saw the Lord arise;

With treasures of immortal worth.

He justly claims a song from thee,

I leave you in God’s care;

Assist me to proclaim,

The firmament showeth His handiwork.

The things I want can not be won;

Stood before the Lamb, and they had palms in their hands, and they cease not day nor night, saying,

Was blind, but now I see.

Yet Christians sing and shout the louder,

Sound forth Immanuel’s praise.

I beheld, and lo a great multitude, which no man could number,

Let storms of sorrow fall,

The lilies grow and thrive;

Thy glory o’er creation shines,

Thy pow’r and praise proclaim;

Crowns of glory to obtain.

In vain Thou strugglest to get free;

Sweet pleasure warms my beating breast —

Yes, ev’ry secret of my heart

Let deep repentance, faith, and love,

“Receive my soul,” He cries:

So I but safely reach my home,

I’ll sing Thy pow’r to save;

I’ll bid farewell to ev’ry fear,

With what religious fear,