O ye immortal throng
Of angels round the throne,
Join with our feeble song,
To make the Sav­ior known:
On earth ye knew His wondrous grace;
His beauteous face in Heav’n ye view.

Ye saw the Heav’n-born child
In human flesh arrayed,
Benevolent and mild
While in the manger laid:
And Praise to God, and peace on earth,
For such a birth, proclaimed aloud.

Ye, in the wilderness,
Beheld the tempter spoiled,
Well known in every dress,
In every combat foiled;
And joyed to crown the Victor’s head,
When Satan fled before His frown.

Around the bloody tree
Ye pressed with strong desire
That wondrous sight to see,
The Lord of life expire:
And could your eyes have known a tear,
Had dropped it there in sad surprise.

Around His sacred tomb
A willing watch ye keep
Till the blest moment come
To rouse Him from His sleep:
Then rolled the stone, and all adored
Your rising Lord with joy unknown.

When, all arrayed in light,
The shining Con­quer­or rode,
Ye hailed His rapturous flight
Up to the throne of God,
And waved around your golden wings,
And struck your strings of sweetest sound.

The warbling notes pursue,
And louder anthems raise,
While mortals sing with you
Their own Re­deem­er’s praise:
And thou, my heart, with equal flame,
And joy the same, perform thy part.