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 heavenly light?"
2 From tort'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 them 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 Thro' the vast round of endless years, And the soft hand of sovereign grace Heals all their wounds, and wipes their tears.