1 When God restor'd our captive state, Joy was our song, and grace our theme; The grace beyond our hopes so great, That joy appear'd a painted dream.
2 The scoffer owns thy hand, and pays Unwilling honours to thy Name; While we with pleasure shout thy praise, With cheerful notes thy love proclaim.
3 When we review our dismal fears, 'Twas hard to think they'd vanish so; With God we left our flowing tears, He makes our joys like rivers flow.
4 The man that in his furrow'd field His scatter'd seed with sadness leaves, Will shout to see the harvest yield A welcome load of joyful sheaves.