tr., John Brownlie

10,10,10,10

I

Wake to the songs that lips unsullied sing,

And let their tones responsive echoes call, --

There's more to cheer us than our senses bring,

And sweeter anthems than from mortals fall.

II

Saints in the land where sin is all unknown,

Where care nor sorrow can the light subdue,

Dwell in the glory of the heavenly throne,

And voice new praise, for wonders ever new.

III

Wake to their praise, and let us blend with theirs

Songs that shall travel to a fairer clime;

Glad as the morn, and hallowed by our prayers,

Offerings of duty from the realm of time.

VI

One, we are one with victors gone before;

Songs that are ours, were theirs when in the strife;

Theirs shall be ours when, all our striving o'er,

Christ gives us entrance to immortal life.