Come, ye faith­ful, raise the an­them,
Cleave the skies with shouts of praise;
Sing to Him who found a ran­som,
Ancient of eter­nal days,
God of God, the Word in­car­nate,
Whom the heaven of heaven ob­eys.

Ere He raised the lof­ty mount­ains,
Formed the seas, or built the sky,
Love eter­nal, free, and bound­less,
Moved the Lord of Life to die,
Foreordained the Prince of princ­es
For the throne of Cal­va­ry.

If His people walk in dark­ness
Through the thick­est clouds of night,
He, ac­cord­ing to His pro­mise,
Sends the pil­lar-beam of light;
Then they pass along His high­way,
Turning not to left or right.

When the thirs­ty pant for wa­ter,
And no cool­ing streams are found,
He des­cends, like show­ers in spring-time,
Softening all the parch­ed ground;
While the smit­ten Rock its tor­rents
Pours in am­ple streams around.

Hungry souls that faint and lang­uish
By His bound­less hand are fed!
Yes, He gives them food im­mor­tal!
Gives Him­self, the liv­ing bread,
Gives the cha­lice of His pas­sion,
Rich with blood on Cal­va­ry shed.

Trust Him, then, ye fear­ful pil­grims—
Who shall pluck you from His hand?
Pledged He stands for their sal­va­tion,
Who are fight­ing for His land;
Oh! that we, amidst His true ones,
Round His throne may one day stand!