O ye im­mor­tal throng
Of an­gels round the throne,
Join with our fee­ble song,
To make the Sav­ior known:
On earth ye knew His won­drous grace;
His beau­te­ous face in Heav’n ye view.

Ye saw the Heav’n-born child
In hu­man flesh ar­rayed,
Benevolent and mild
While in the man­ger laid:
And Praise to God, and peace on earth,
For such a birth, pro­claimed aloud.

Ye, in the wil­der­ness,
Beheld the temp­ter spoiled,
Well known in ev­ery dress,
In ev­ery com­bat foiled;
And joyed to crown the Vic­tor’s head,
When Sa­tan fled be­fore His frown.

Around the bloody tree
Ye pressed with strong de­sire
That won­drous sight to see,
The Lord of life ex­pire:
And could your eyes have known a tear,
Had dropped it there in sad sur­prise.

Around His sac­red tomb
A will­ing watch ye keep
Till the blest mo­ment come
To rouse Him from His sleep:
Then rolled the stone, and all ad­ored
Your ris­ing Lord with joy un­known.

When, all ar­rayed in light,
The shin­ing Con­quer­or rode,
Ye hailed His rap­tur­ous flight
Up to the throne of God,
And waved around your gold­en wings,
And struck your strings of sweet­est sound.

The warb­ling notes pur­sue,
And louder an­thems raise,
While mor­tals sing with you
Their own Re­deem­er’s praise:
And thou, my heart, with eq­ual flame,
And joy the same, per­form thy part.