Classic Poem

W ALWORTH T UNE

Rejoice, ye saints of God,
Whose undiverted feet
Still travel Zion's road
Your gracious Lord to meet;
Whose bosoms glow with holy love,
Whose hearts and hopes are fix'd above,

We are not come to gaze
On Sinai's mount with awe,
Or meet the angry blaze
Of God's indignant law,
All round us flames of wrath divine
All their dreadful glories shine:

We are not come to hear
The thunder of that word
That fills the soul with fear,
And leaves the heart still hard;
At sends the trembling wretch away
Shout a glimpse of heav'nly day.

But we are come to hear
The sound of gospel peace,
That scatters slavish fear,
And kindles hopes of bliss;
And shews our wand'ring feet the way
In darkness to eternal day:

But we are come to meet
The smiles of love divine,
From off the mercy's seat,
Where milder glories shine;
Are God the Father waits to hear
Wilest sinner's humble pray'r:

Where Jesus, our high-priest,
A mediator stands,
And wears the sacred vest;
And fills his holy hands
With his vicarious sacrifice,
Through which our pray'rs accepted rise.

Thence he the Spirit sends
Like a celestial dove,
To crown his earthly friends
With honours from above;
To teach the sinners how to pray,
And guide the faints in Zion's way.

Yes, we are come to join
The bright assembled throng
That, wash'd in blood divine,
Exalt th' angelic song;
That glory in the Saviour's name,
And sing the sin-atoning Lamb.