We’ll Sing, in Spite of Scorn

We’ll sing

in spite of scorn:

Our theme is come from Heav’n:

To us a child is born

To us a son is giv’n;

The sweet­est news that ev­er came

We’ll sing

though all the world should blame.

The long ex­pect­ed morn

Has dawned up­on the earth;

The Sav­ior Christ is born

And an­gels sing His birth:

We’ll join the bright ser­aph­ic throng

We’ll share their joys

and swell their song.

O! ’tis a lof­ty theme

Supplied by an­gels’ tongues!

All oth­er ob­jects seem

Unworthy of our songs.

This sac­red theme has bound­less charms

It fills

it cap­ti­vates

it warms.

Now sing of peace di­vine

Of grace to gui­lty man;

No wis­dom

Lord

but Thine

Could form the won­drous plan;

Where peace and right­eous­ness em­brace

And jus­tice goes along with grace.

Give praise to God on high

With an­gels round His throne;

Give praise to God with joy

Give praise to God alone!

’Tis meet His saints their songs should raise

And give the Sav­ior end­less praise.