Rejoice, Ye Saints of God!

lyricist: James Belford, 1904
Composer: Lincoln Hall

Rejoice

ye saints of God!

Before your wea­ry eyes

The shin­ing man­sions of the blest

On Jor­dan’s bank arise.

Strike all your harps in joy!

Loud let your prais­es ring!

It is the new Je­ru­sa­lem

The city of the King!

Jerusalem! Je­ru­sa­lem!

Lift high the joy­ful song!

Jerusalem! Je­ru­sa­lem!

For which we’ve strug­gled long!

As strang­ers we have wan­dered

Far in a de­sert land;

Our ex­ile now is ov­er

Behold our na­tive strand!

Within those gates of pearl

Nor sin

nor death can come;

No night

nor sor­row shall o’er­cloud

The soul’s eter­nal home.

Rest shall be yours from toil;

Sweet peace

ins­tead of pain;

The dis­cord of the earth shall cease

The love of God shall reign.

Speed on

O pil­grim host

With feet that nev­er tire;

Soon shall you reach that gold­en strand

The goal of your de­sire.

Hark! ’Tis an an­gel’s song

Borne to you on the wind

Come

faith­ful souls

and in your Lord

Eternal so­lace find.

Rejoice

ye saints of God!

The wea­ry war­fare’s past

And death and hell are tram­pled down

Beneath your feet at last.

Throughout un­end­ing years

Glad prais­es shall you sing

Within the new Je­ru­sa­lem

The city of the King!

Jerusalem! Je­ru­sa­lem!

Lift high the joy­ful song!

Jerusalem! Je­ru­sa­lem!

For which we’ve strug­gled long!

As strang­ers we have wan­dered

Far in a de­sert land;

Our ex­ile now is ov­er

Behold our na­tive strand!

Within those gates of pearl

Nor sin

nor death can come;

No night

nor sor­row shall o’er­cloud

The soul’s eter­nal home.

Rest shall be yours from toil;

Sweet peace

ins­tead of pain;

The dis­cord of the earth shall cease

The love of God shall reign.

Speed on

O pil­grim host

With feet that nev­er tire;

Soon shall you reach that gold­en strand

The goal of your de­sire.

Hark! ’Tis an an­gel’s song

Borne to you on the wind

Come

faith­ful souls

and in your Lord

Eternal so­lace find.

Rejoice

ye saints of God!

The wea­ry war­fare’s past

And death and hell are tram­pled down

Beneath your feet at last.

Throughout un­end­ing years

Glad prais­es shall you sing

Within the new Je­ru­sa­lem

The city of the King!

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