When Saints Gather Round Thee

When saints ga­ther round Thee

Dear Sav­ior

ab­ove

And hast­en to crown Thee

With jew­els of love

Amid those bright man­sions

Of glo­ry so fair—

Oh

grant

dear­est Sav­ior

That I may be there.

When those who have la­bored

And strug­gled to save

Their loved ones from sor­row

Beyond the dark grave

Are bring­ing the trea­sures

They ga­thered with care—

Oh

grant

dear­est Sav­ior

That I may be there.

When life’s drea­ry bil­lows

Are spent on the shore

Beyond the dark riv­er

And time is no more

When bright palms of glo­ry

The vic­tors shall bear—

Oh

grant

dear­est Sav­ior

That I may be there.

And when in bright gar­ments

Thy child­ren shall stand

A crown on each fore­head

A harp in each hand

And sing of the joys Thou

Hast gone to pre­pare—

Oh

grant

dear­est Sav­ior

That I may be there.