1 What happy Men, or Angels, these,
That all their Robes are spotless white?
Whence did this glorious Troop arrive
At the pure Realms of Heav'nly Light?
2 From tott'ring Racks and burning Fires,
And Seas of their own Blood they came:
But nobler Blood has wash'd their Robes,
Flowing from Christ the dying Lamb.
3 Now they approach th' Almighty Throne
With loud Hosannas Night and Day;
Sweet Anthems to the Great Three One,
Measure their blest Eternity.
4 No more shall Hunger pain their Souls,
He bids their parching Thirst be gone,
And spreads the Shadow of his Wings,
To screen 'em from the scorching Sun.
5 The Lamb that fills the Middle Throne
Shall shed around his milder Beams;
There shall they feast on his rich Love,
And drink full Joys from living Streams.
6 Thus shall their mighty Bliss renew
Through the vast Round of endless Years,
And the soft Hand of Sov'reign Grace
Heals all their Wounds, and wipes their Tears.
Text Information | |
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First Line: | What happy Men, or Angels, these |
Language: | English |
Publication Date: | 1766 |
Scripture: | |
Topic: | Blessedness and Business of Heaven; Spiritual Clothing; Glorified Martyrs and Saints |