Exalted high at God’s right hand,
Nearer the throne than cher­ubs stand,
With glo­ry crowned, in white ar­ray,
My won­der­ing soul says, Who are they?

These are the saints be­loved of God,
Washed are their robes in Je­sus’ blood;
More spot­less than the pur­est white,
They shine in un­cre­at­ed light.

Brighter than an­gels, lo! they shine
Their glo­ries great, and all di­vine;
Tell me their ori­gin, and say
Their or­der what, and whence came they?

Through tri­bu­la­tion great they came;
They bore the cross, and scorned the shame;
Within the liv­ing tem­ple blest,
In God they dwell, and on Him rest.

And does the cross thus prove their gain?
And shall they thus for ev­er reign,
Seated on sap­phire thrones, to praise
The won­ders of re­deem­ing grace?

Hunger they ne’er shall feel again,
Nor burn­ing thirst shall they sus­tain;
To wells of liv­ing wa­ters led
By God, the Lamb, for­ev­er fed.

Unknown to mor­tal ears, they sing
The sec­ret glo­ries of their king;
Tell me the sub­ject of their lays,
And whence their loud ex­alt­ed praise?

Jesus, the Sav­ior, is their theme;
They sing the won­ders of His name;
To Him as­crib­ing pow­er and grace,
Dominion and eter­nal praise.

Amen they cry to Him alone,
Who dares to fill His Fa­ther’s throne;
They give Him glo­ry, and again
Repeat His praise, and say Amen.