Now let us join with hearts and tongues,
And emu­late the an­gels’ songs;
Yea, sin­ners may ad­dress their king
In songs that an­gels can­not sing.

They praise the Lamb who once was slain,
But we can add a high­er strain;
Not on­ly say, He suf­fered thus,
But that He suf­fered all for us.

When an­gels by trans­gress­ion fell,
Justice con­signed them all to hell;
But mer­cy formed a won­drous plan,
To save and hon­or fall­en man.

Jesus, who passed the an­gels by,
Assumed our flesh to bleed and die;
And still He makes it His abode,
As man, He fills the throne of God.

Our next of kin, our bro­ther now,
Is He to whom the an­gels bow;
They join with us to praise His name,
But we the near­est in­ter­est claim.

But ah! how faint our prais­es rise!
Sure, ’tis the won­der of the skies;
That we, who share His rich­est love,
So cold and un­con­cerned should prove.

O glo­ri­ous hour, it comes with speed!
When we from sin and dark­ness freed,
Shall see the God who died for man,
And praise Him more than an­gels can.