Lord, Thou wilt bring the joy­ful day!
Beyond earth’s wea­ri­ness and pains,
Thou hast a man­sion far away,
Where for Thine own a rest re­mains.

No sun there climbs the morn­ing sky,
There ne­ver falls the shade of night,
God and the Lamb, for ev­er nigh,
O’er all shed ev­er­last­ing light.

The bow of mer­cy spans the throne,
Emblem of love and good­ness there;
While notes to mor­tals all un­known
Float on the calm, ce­les­ti­al air.

Around the throne bright le­gions stand,
Redeemed by blood from sin and hell;
And shin­ing forms, an an­gel band,
The migh­ty cho­rus join to swell.

There, Lord, Thy way-worn saints shall find
The bliss for which they longed be­fore;
And ho­li­est sym­pa­thies shall bind
Thine own to Thee for ev­er­more.

O Je­sus, bring us to that rest,
Where all the ran­somed shall be found,
In Thine eter­nal full­ness blest,
While ag­es roll their cy­cles round.