There’s joy in Heav­en, thrill­ing joy,
Whene’er a sin­ner turns;
Then with a ho­ly ec­sta­sy,
The tall­est ser­aph burns:
Through all the shin­ing courts of bliss,
The joy­ful news is borne,
And thou­sand an­gel voices shout,
The wan­der­er’s re­turn.

There’s light, ef­ful­gent light in Heav’n
It ra­di­ates from the throne,
And bright re­flects from gold­en streets
And walls of pre­cious stone:
Ten thou­sand times ten thou­sand stars,
And suns by scores un­told,
Could ne’er emit such glo­ri­ous light,
As there the saints be­hold.

There’s rest in Heav­en, calm re­pose,
From pain and toil and care:
And there the wea­ry shall en­joy
A peace be­yond com­pare.
A tran­quil qui­et, calm and deep,
A sea with­out a shore,
An ocean vast, of bliss, that shall
Endure for ev­er­more.

There’s mu­sic, heav’n­ly mu­sic, there
Ten thou­sand harps of gold
Are tuned and touched by an­gel hands,
To mea­sures sweet and bold:
Twelve thou­sand times twelve thou­sand souls
Of their re­demp­tion sing;
And loud­er yet, rank af­ter rank,
Redemption’s an­thems ring.

They sing the won­drous love of God,
That saved a sin­ful race;
And thou­sand thou­sand an­gel choirs,
Take up the notes of praise:
And ran­somed souls, a count­less host,
They echo swell­ing songs,
Of hon­or, pow’r, and love to Him,
To whom all praise be­longs.