Behold a host, ar­rayed in white,
With palms they stand. Who is this band
Before the throne of light?
Lo, these are they of glo­ri­ous fame
Who from the great af­flict­ion came
And in the flood of Je­sus’ blood
Are cleansed from guilt and blame.
Now ga­thered in the ho­ly place
Their voic­es they in wor­ship raise,
Their an­thems swell where God doth dwell,
Mid an­gels’ song of praise.

Despised and scorned, they so­journed here;
But now, how glo­ri­ous they app­ear!
Those mar­tyrs stand a priest­ly band,
God’s throne for­ev­er near.
So oft, in trou­bled days gone by,
In ang­uish they would weep and sigh.
At home above the God of Love
For aye their tears shall dry.
They now en­joy their Sab­bath rest,
The pas­chal ban­quet of the blest;
The Lamb, their Lord, at fes­tal board
Himself is Host and Guest.

Then hail, ye migh­ty le­gions, yea,
All hail! No safe and blest for aye,
And praise the Lord, how with His word
Sustained you on the way.
Ye did the joys of earth dis­dain,
Ye toil­ed and sowed in tears and pain.
Farewell, now bring your sheaves and sing
Salvation’s glad re­frain.
Sing high your palms, lift up your song,
Yea, make it my­ri­ad voic­es strong.
Eternally shall praise to Thee,
God, and the Lamb be­long.