Come one and all, your voices mingle here,
To bless His presence who is ever near.
From east and west they come, from south and north,
From every path and thicket issuing forth,
Till all together seated once again,
The songs of worship and of praise begin.
Up to the throne of Heaven their prayers ascend,
Together rich and poor their voices blend;
While with their songs unite the feathered choir,
With gratitude each spirit to inspire,
Till hill and valley echo all around,
And "God's first temples" with His praise resound.
And look! for now again the scene is changed;
A group before that rustic altar ranged,
With bended knee the throne of grace implore,
On infant heads its showers of love to pour;
That infant tongues may lisp the praise of God,
To guide their feet in paths by Jesus trod.
Sure, angels hallow scenes like this below,
And holy spirits at that altar bow,
Like winged messengers from Heaven, to bear
These offerings, and ever guard them there,
That every bud of promise reared below,
May bloom in Heaven, and to perfection grow.
But fast in scenes like this the day is spent;
Again toward home their weary steps are bent.
Weary with pleasure, they reluctant go,
Once more the toils and cares of earth to know:
But purified, and strengthened for the strife
Of labor, and the busy scenes of life;