Come, lift your joy­ous eyes
To yon­der heav’n­ly place.
Where, freed from sin, your souls shall rise,
And sing re­deem­ing grace.

Though death and hell may frown,
And charge the saints with guilt;
Yet death and hell shall ne’er pull down
The Church which Christ has built.

To Si­on’s bliss­ful shore,
As on our way we go,
While hal­le­lu­jahs sound be­fore,
’Tis Heav’n be­gun be­low.

Then cast your wil­lows down;
List up your hearts and sing,
Till Christ your heads with glo­ry crown,
And make each saint a king.