Lo! round the throne at God’s right hand
The saints in count­less myr­iads stand,
Of ev­ery tongue re­deemed to God,
Arrayed in gar­ments washed in blood.

Through tri­bu­lat­ion great they came;
They bore the cross, des­pised the shame;
From all their la­bors now they rest,
In God’s eter­nal glo­ry blest.

Hunger and thirst they feel no more;
Nor sin, nor pain, nor death deplore;
The tears are wiped from ev­ery eye,
And sor­row yields to end­less joy.

They see their Sav­ior face to face,
And sing the tri­umphs of His grace,
Him, day and night they cease­less praise,
To Him their loud ho­san­nas raise.

Worthy the Lamb for sin­ners slain,
Through end­less years to live and reign;
Thou hast re­deemed us by Thy blood,
And made us kings and priests to God.