Sunday Hymn: Come, Ye That Love the Lord

Come, we that love the Lord,
And let our joys be known;
Join in a song with sweet ac­cord,
Join in a song with sweet ac­cord
And thus sur­round the throne,
And thus sur­round the throne.

The sor­rows of the mind
Be ban­ished from the place;
Religion nev­er was de­signed
Religion nev­er was de­signed,
To make our plea­sures less,
To make our plea­sures less.

Let those re­fuse to sing,
Who nev­er knew our God;
But fa­vo­rites of the heav’n­ly King,
But fa­vo­rites of the heav’n­ly King
May speak their joys abroad,
May speak their joys abroad.

The God that rules on high,
And thun­ders when He please,
Who rides up­on the stor­my sky,
Who rides up­on the stor­my sky,
And man­ages the seas,
And man­ages the seas.

This aw­ful God is ours,
Our Fa­ther and our Love;
He will send down His heav’n­ly pow­ers,
He will send down His heav’n­ly pow­ers,
To car­ry us ab­ove,
To car­ry us ab­ove.

There we shall see His face,
And nev­er, nev­er sin!
There, from the riv­ers of His grace,
There, from the riv­ers of His grace,
Drink end­less plea­sures in,
Drink end­less plea­sures in.

Yea, and be­fore we rise,
To that im­mor­tal state,
The thoughts of such amaz­ing bliss,
The thoughts of such amaz­ing bliss,
Should con­stant joys cre­ate,
Should con­stant joys create.

The men of grace have found,
Glory be­gun be­low.
Celestial fruits on earth­ly ground
Celestial fruits on earth­ly ground
From faith and hope may grow,
From faith and hope may grow.

The hill of Zi­on yields
A thou­sand sac­red sweets
Before we reach the heav’n­ly fields,
Before we reach the heav’n­ly fields,
Or walk the gold­en streets,
Or walk the gold­en streets.

Then let our songs abound,
And ev­ery tear be dry;
We’re march­ing through Im­ma­nu­el’s ground,
We’re march­ing through Im­ma­nu­el’s ground,
To fair­er worlds on high,
To fair­er worlds on high.

—Isaac Watts