By:
Edited By Heymen Wreford
Like incense to the throne of God,
From Israel’s altar fires,
Whose precious fragrance, rich and sweet,
Expressed their hearts’ desires;
So riseth, Lord, within our souls,
The melody of praise,
While love delights to sing of Christ,
So perfect in His ways.
Is there a heart that loves Thy name
Can ever silent be?
Is there a tongue that to Thy praise
Can chant no melody?
If such a heart could e’er exist,
Who yields Thee not Thine own,
Far better were it in the grave,
Where praises are unknown.
‘Tis not the dead, but those who live,
Their willing tribute bring,
And to the Father’s blessed Son
Their ceaseless homage sing.
Yes, “Thou art worthy, Lord, alone.”
Such is their gladsome lay;
Nor shall those anthems ever cease
Through God’s eternal day.
Nay, in the Father’s house above,
The palace of the free,
That home where sin can never come
Nor sorrow ever be,
They’ll tune their harps to tell His worth,
The deeds which He hath done,
And sound abroad for evermore
The triumphs Christ hath won.
Loud hallelujahs echo round,
The courts of heaven ring;
Angelic hosts and seraphim
In endless chorus sing.
The serried ranks of ransom ‘d souls
Take up the joyous song;
The elders worship at His feet,
To whom all things belong.
We wait not for the glory land,
Our hearts can not refrain,
But as we’re journeying borne to God
Must praise the Lamb once slain.
Filled with the Spirit’s touch and power,
Our ransom‘d lips set free,
Love’s incense must rise up to Him
Whose blood-bought ones are we.
S.T.