Around the throne of God
The host angelic throngs;
They spread their palms abroad,
And shout perpetual songs:
Him first they own, Him last and best;
God ever blest, and God alone.

Their golden crowns they fling
Before His throne of light,
And strike the rapturous string,
Unceasing, day and night:
“Earth, Heav’n, and sea, Thy praise declare;
For Thine they are, and Thine shall be.

“O holy, holy, Lord,
Creation’s sovereign King!
Thy majesty adored
Let all creation sing;
Who wast, and art, and art to be;
Nor time shall see Thy sway depart.

“Great are Thy works of praise,
O God of boundless might;
All just and true Thy ways,
Thou King of saints, in light:
Let all above, and all below,
Conspire to show Thy power and love.

“Who shall not fear Thee, Lord,
And magnify Thy Name?
Thy judgments, sent abroad,
Thy holiness proclaim:
Nations shall throng from every shore,
And all adore in one loud song.”

While thus the powers on high
Their swelling chorus raise,
Let earth and man reply,
And echo back the praise:
His glory own, first, last and best;
God ever blest, and God alone.

Father, before Thy throne of light
The guardian angels bend,
And ever in Thy presence bright
Their psalms adoring blend;
And casting down each golden crown,
Beside the crystal sea,
With voice and lyre, in happy quire,
Hymn glory, Lord, to Thee.

And as the rainbow luster falls
Athwart their glowing wings,
While seraph unto seraph calls,
And each Thy goodness sings;
So may we feel, as low we kneel
To pray Thee for Thy grace,
That Thou art here for all who fear
The brightness of Thy face.

Here, where the angels see us come
To worship day by day,
Teach us to seek our heav’nly home,
And love Thee e’en as they;
Teach us to raise our notes of praise,
With them Thy love to own,
That childhood’s flower and manhood’s power
Be Thine, and Thine alone.

Our day of praise is done;
The evening shadows fall;
But pass not from us with the sun,
True Light that lightenest all.

Around the throne on high,
Where night can never be,
The white robed harpers of the sky
Bring ceaseless hymns to Thee.

Too faint our anthems here;
Too soon of praise we tire;
But O the strains, how full and clear,
Of that eternal choir!

Yet, Lord, to Thy dear will
If Thou attune the heart,
We in Thine angels’ music still
May bear our lower part.

’Tis Thine each soul to calm,
Each wayward thought reclaim,
And make our life a daily psalm
Of glory to Thy Name.

A little while, and then
Shall come the glorious end;
And songs of angels and of men
In perfect praise shall blend.

Ye angels who stand round the throne,
And view my Immanuel’s face,
In rapturous songs make Him known;
O tune your soft harps to His praise.
He formed you the spirits you are,
So happy, so noble, so good;
While others sank down in despair,
Confirmed by His power, you stood.

Ye saints who stand nearer than they,
And cast your bright crowns at His feet,
His grace and His glory display,
And all His rich mercy repeat:
He snatched you from hell and the grave,
He ransomed from death and despair;
For you He was mighty to save,
Almighty to bring you safe there.

O when will the period appear
When I shall unite in your song?
I’m weary of lingering here,
And I to your Savior belong;
I’m fettered and chained up in clay,
I struggle and pant to be free;
I long to be soaring away,
My God and my Savior to see.

I want to put on my attire,
Washed white in the blood of the Lamb;
I want to be one with your choir,
And tune my sweet harp to His Name.
I want—O I want to be there,
Where sorrow and sin bid adieu,
Your joy and your friendship to share,
To wonder and worship with you.